Voldemort's Court
by camnz
Summary: AU - Theo's death means Hermione must represent the Nott family in Voldemort's court, where his madness reigns and insidious plots threaten her very life. In a world, waiting for her to fall, she must fight for her son's future.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Hermione paced in front of the fireplace, her long robes dragging behind her on the silk carpet, a parchment lightly between her fingertips. Her hair hung down in soft curls as a lush cascade down her back.

"What does this mean?" she asked Lady Nott, who sat on the settee with a look of concern marring the features of the older woman that was her mother in law.

"I think you must go, dear," the woman said, her voice thin, distress clearly making it so.

Crossing her arms around her, the parchment crumpled in the process and Hermione continued to pace. What did this mean, this summons? She wasn't welcome at court; she never had been. Theo's marriage to her had more or less been ignored, but now that he'd died, this summons had come, for her specifically.

Voldemort's court still held the deepest disdain for mudbloods, although they had lost interested in specifically subjugating and terrorizing them now. That aim had been well achieved and most had been relegated to the life of peasants in this new world Voldemort had created.

"As Theo's widow, and the mother to the next Lord… I suppose he is Lord Nott now," Lady Nott said softly, her grief breaking through. They had only buried Theo a week ago—a week of bleakness unlike any she had felt in years. Not since the world changed.

Her thoughts turned to her son, Tabain, and she immediately brightened—his wild, dark curls and happy face. At three, he didn't understand the devastation that had descended on the house. Theo was often away at court, absent for long stretches, so other than the sadness, he perceived nothing out of the usual. How did you explain to a three year old that his father would never return? Hermione hadn't worked out a way.

"I think you must take Tabain with you," Lady Nott said. "I think people must see him. It is in his name you go, his legacy we must preserve. Voldemort must see that Tabain is an important part of the next generation." The nervousness in Lady Nott's voice made Hermione concerned. The woman feared this development, and maybe there was much to fear.

Continuing to pace, running her fingers over her mouth, Hermione considered the statement. Yes, she was her son's, the current Lord Nott's, guardian. She would now manage the Nott estate and lands in his name, which wouldn't be so much different as she had in her husband's absence. Her aim had been not to attract attention, as her being in charge of these lands would be disdained by many—seen as unfit and unsuitable, too stupid and backwards to take responsibility for such a sizable portion of land. "Yes," she conceded. She'd rather not, would rather leave him here, but everyone at court needed to see it was his legacy they were preserving.

Actually, she couldn't think of anything she wanted less than to go to Voldemort's court. She wanted nothing to do with the wizarding world's center of power and politics. Being a landowner, Nott had to, but it wasn't something he'd enjoyed. Court was a nest of vipers and Hermione was sure Nott's death wasn't the natural, unfortunate occurrence visitors were trying to convince her of. Thirty five year-old men did not die of natural causes, no matter what the medics said.

Sadness washed over her again. He would never come home again. Her lovely husband. He'd been a point of reason and light in a sea of darkness. They'd hidden away in this manor as much as they could and just enjoyed each other's company. Now it was only her and she was only starting to realize that. Nott had kept her hidden, this manor only for them, but that was over now; she had to venture into the viper's nest itself. Dread crept up her spine. It was the very last thing she wanted; she wanted to mourn her husband in peace, but this summons forbid that.

For a second, she wanted to crumple to the ground and refuse to do anything other than succumb to the sadness that had taken over every part of her. She didn't want to do this, wanted to take to her room and simply be with her child.

Theo had hidden the things that went on in court from her, but she knew they had exhausted him. Returning home was all he ever wanted and he wasn't allowed. Voldemort decided who came and went, and when. As powerful as the purebloods were, Voldemort controlled them. She didn't understand how this was a world they wanted to live in, but then, they had all grown rich beyond imagination. The whole of Great Britain had been divided between them, large parts of it hidden from the muggles, who hadn't apparently noticed that the space they inhabited had grown smaller. It was true: muggles didn't notice anything, and that included her parents who'd large forgotten her. It was better that way. Since Voldemort's rise, her and her parents had been a threat to each other. Sadly, it was better this way, but she felt most sorry for Tabain, who would never know his grandparents.

"You have no choice," Lady Nott said. Sadly, that was true. You could not defy Voldemort; he didn't tolerate it. There were plenty of other things he no longer tolerated, or kept for only his most trusted. Apparating was only allowed for his personal guard. It was a privilege that had even been removed from the apparent aristocracy. Yet, they did nothing about it, lived happily under Voldemort's rule as their lands and coffers remained intact.

She had both land and coffers to protect for her son. She had no option. To reject the order in any public way meant death, and her core mission was to ensure Tabain lived. Death was still too cheap a commodity in this world. Secondly to ensure he had the power and wealth to secure his family in the future. This was a world he had to live and thrive in, and it was up to her to protect him and his future.

With a sigh, she nodded. She had no choice but comply. "I will pack," she said and nodded to Lady Nott, before leaving and returning back to her wing of the house.

Walking along, she could hear Tabain's voice in the nursery, playing with his nursemaid. She couldn't walk past and followed his voice to where he sat with a book and a wooden toy. Toys were strewn on the floor and she had to watch her step. The nursemaid curtseyed and took the opportunity to have a break while Hermione was there.

"Mummy," he said brightly, holding his arms out to her.

With a smile, she picked him up, placing him down on her lap as she sat down on a small sofa. "How is my little man today?" she asked, looking into his large hazel eyes. He was the most beautiful boy she'd even seen, but she might be biased.

"Good," he said, still holding onto the toy.

"What do you think about us going for a little trip?"

"With the horses?"

"Yes, with the horses," she said. "We'll go see a huge castle, as big as the sky."

His eyes widened. "This big," he said, stretching his arms out.

"Bigger."

"Now, now."

"Tomorrow," she said. "First we must pack some things. What toys would you like to take?" He squiggled off her and ran around, picking up toys from the floor before walking over to the rocking horse. "That might be too big and horses prefer the country where there is grass and trees. Not a big castle."

For a while as she played with Tabain, she forget her worries, but they crept back into her consciousness as he settled for a nap, closing his sweet eyes. The world was still a wondrous and awe-inspiring place in his view and she wanted to keep it that way. Returning to her room, she stared out the window for a while. The fields outside were lush and green, the garden preparing to sleep through the coming winter.

She had no idea how long she would be forced to stay. It would be a simple thing, just present yourself and go away, but Voldemort also kept people at court for weeks, years even. If she had some idea what he wanted, she would know what she needed, but she had no idea. What was certain was that she needed to represent the Nott family and estates with strength, as some might see them as vulnerable.

Servants delivered a trunk for her and she turned her attention to her wardrobe. She didn't have a great number of robes that would be appropriate for court, where displays of wealth and importance was integral. For a lengthy stay, she didn't have enough. Presenting herself as weak would invite undue attention and she wasn't sure she could afford that. The Nott estate was not weak and her modest wardrobe would probably have people thinking she was poverty stricken. She would have to build on that wardrobe to be the representative of the family.

Even now, she hated the whole idea of this, of having to go there and present herself. What did they want of her? Or rather, was it Voldemort? It must have been him that had summoned her, but for what purpose? She felt a deep sense of foreboding that wouldn't shake. Was Voldemort even aware of her humble birth? Surely he was.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The horseless carriage meandered along the road to Voldemort's citadel. Back when he'd won the war, he'd established himself at Hogwarts, taking over the home of his defeated enemy and built a citadel around it.

It felt a lifetime ago since she'd been there and she preferred thinking of it that way. Those days were gone and she hadn't started a new chapter, instead skipped to another book. There was nothing left of the life she'd known. It was as if he'd rewritten the world to his liking, his paranoia spilling into every part of life. Foremost was his limitations on magic. It was now a commodity he liked keeping to himself, still all powerful, and he really was. There was no one to challenge him, and even if a strong candidate was to come along, education was limited to ensure no one developed the skills to take him on. It was a tactic he'd always used for ensuring his own position—elimination of his enemies. His position was unchallenged, and would likely remain so.

The carriage rolled forward down the gravel road that led to Hogwarts. Tabain sat beside her, playing with a wooden toy soldier. She considered her son with softening eyes. She was doing this for him—had to prevail, for him. He was the only thing that mattered and she had to secure his future, even if it killed her. If it wasn't for him, she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to live in this world Voldemort had created, but her son was her duty and her mission.

Perhaps she wouldn't feel so nervous if she had some idea what to expect, but she would just have to wait and see. "Trust no one in that nest of vipers", Lady Nott had warned. Hermione took that warning to heart.

The air grew colder the further north they traveled. Tabain grew bored and unruly, then slept with his head in her lap, while the carriage still trundled on down the road. Crops grew around her, tended by muggles that Voldemort, or any of the other landowners had drafted into their employ. Employ was a misguiding word. Even as it was called employ, it was little more than slavery. People were tied to the land and restricted from leaving. As she had, before she'd met and married Nott, they lived in small villages, while the purebloods, the people Voldemort deemed on his side, lived on vast estates with mansions that showed their wealth and power.

She could see Hogwarts in the distance. It looked nothing like she had known it. Towers upon towers had been built, creating a gigantic structure that looked both random and complex, larger than anything she had seen before. There wasn't any particular rhyme or reason to the building, other than being massive. It looked as if it had just been extended relentlessly, as if he continually wasn't happy. Now it had become a leviathan of towers, outcroppings, dotted with windows like scales on a massive slumbering beast. It had ceased being beautiful, as if cancerous growth had taken over and distorted the intention.

Carts joined her on the road, slowly ferrying food and material to Voldemort's citadel. It slowed her journey down as the massive blights ebbed closer and closer. There was little around it, other than a few muggles managing vast fields.

A row of hanging cages hung by the side of the road and Hermione saw the remains of people Voldemort had executed slumped in them, left there to starve to death and be picked at by crows. A fission of fear ran down her spine and her stomach clenched with nausea as the stench of death assaulted her nose. This was the result of Voldemort's will. Anyone's fate was in his hands, and these poor souls had displeased him, and paid dearly as a result.

If things went badly, she'd end up in one of those cages. If it went disastrously, so would Tabain. Maybe she needed a contingency plan to get Tabain away from here if things went badly—but where could he go? Voldemort controlled everything, and there weren't any places outside of his reach. The seriousness of her task, of just surviving, sat like cold, cloying clay in her stomach. She had to. There was no other option.

-0-

There was a queue at the main gates, massive portcullis and wooden doors taller than most buildings. Guards checked the cargo of each cart carefully, interrogative the downtrodden muggles. It made her wonder what Voldemort feared they would bring into his citadel.

When it was her turn, the guard turned his beady eyes at her. "What do you want?" he said with a surly tone.

"I have been summoned," she said. "Lady Hermione Nott." It sounded strange referring to herself as Lady Nott. The title still sat uncomfortably, but that was what she was now, a part of the landowning class. Well, maybe not for long. Perhaps Voldemort had summoned her to strip her of the title. She hoped not, for Tabain case, as life as a peasant in Voldemort's world was harsh and unrewarding.

The guard nodded her past and her carriage continued into a series of courtyards, past what looked like a main entrance, continuing along an alleyway between stone walls, until she reached another courtyard and stopping in front of a dark wooden doors with iron studs along its length.

An elf stood outside, female apparently, wearing a small tight pinstriped suit. Apparently, Voldemort had changed the rules around elf servitude, unless this elf was free and chose to serve the dark one. It was always a possibility.

"Lady Nott," the elf said and stepped forward.

"Yes," Hermione confirmed as she descended the carriage. The elf studied her and then her son in turn, and Hermione stood holding her son's hand while the creature took them in as if passing some kind of judgement. Was she wondering how long they would survive?

"Your things will be seen to," the elf said, her sharp attention shifting to the trunk attached at the back of the carriage. "This way."

The elf turned and walked in through the door. Hermione lifted Tabain onto her hip and followed into a staircase that seemed to go up, and up, reaching a landing and then up again countless times. They seemed to walk forever, down countless hallways until the elf stopped in front of an ornate brass door with swirls and flowers. "These will be your apartments," the elf said. "I will leave you to settle in. The liege will receive you at assembly in two days' time." By liege, Hermione assumed she meant Voldemort. Was that the title he'd claimed now?

The creature turned on her heel and marched down the hall. Hermione watched her go, small heels clicking on the dark marble floor. Turning her attention to the door, she searched for a door knob, but didn't find one. "Alahamora," she said, trying to summon magic even though her wand had long ago been confiscated, but the door remained shut.

There was no one around and Hermione was annoyed that she'd been left outside her apartments without the knowledge of how to get in. Obviously there was some way that she was supposed to know. What she supposed to touch it? She tried, but it remained shut. "Open," she commanded after placing her hand all over it to not effect.

She groaned with frustration. How inconsiderate leaving her here and not even checking if she could get in. "Pardon me," she called to an empty and silent hall. Walking down, she checked around the corner to see another empty and silent hall. There was a good chance she'd never find her way back if she walked away and searched for someone to help her.

Tabain cried grumpily, tired and unsettled. Hermione had to remain calm so he didn't grow upset, but she had trouble quelling her frustration. Her welcome here had been as heartless as this whole regime seemed to be. At the heart, no one cared about her wellbeing, and she could not forget that.

"Open," she yelled louder, anger quivering through her voice. "I am Lady Nott and I can't get in," she said, hoping that someone was monitoring things and would come to her rescue. As paranoid as she knew Lord Voldemort was, she expected the walls had both eyes and ears everywhere in this place.

The door clicked and crept open. Hermione pushed it and it creaked as the heavy door swung. Did she dare close it behind her? They might never get out again—but then she really wanted to be alone after a long and fraught journey, feeling unable to tackle any of the vipers residing in this place. They had two days until they had to present themselves and Hermione would use it to recuperate. She certainly wasn't seeking anyone's company.

It wasn't a choice at it turned out, the door shut behind them, a lock clicking into place. Hermione stared at it. The door was just as ornate on the inside. Then she turned her attention to the apartment, which was sumptuously decorated. The floors were light marble with green seams running through it and the walls were covered in green and gold silk. The ceiling was ornate as well, plaster swirls covering it, accented with gold leaf. A carved stone pillar held up a rounded archway.

On a table, she saw a satchel and froze. It was Theo's. She recognized it immediately. These were his apartments. She walked into the parlor, her steps echoing in the cavernous space. A seating arrangement was located in the middle, again, gold leaf and fine fabrics. Through a set of double doors, she could see the bed chamber with a large bed looking inviting. She could even find traces of Theo's scent in here and tears formed in her eyes. This is where he'd been when he left her.

An archway led to a dining room, formally appointed with dark, shiny wood. There was also a balcony beyond the long, sheer curtains and she approached, pushing the handle until the glass doors swung opened. As with the apartment interior, the balcony was marble and carved stone. The view looked out over the land and Hermione realized how elevated she was. It must have been over a hundred feet down to the ground, if not more. She could see the weather fronts rolling in over the land in front of her, mountains in the distance and wind dancing over crops. It looked peaceful from here. She just wished she felt it, but tendrils of worry continually unfurled inside her. This peace was deceiving.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Hermione had to ask someone to lead her to the throne room, where the assembly was held. Miles of corridors sat between her and where she needed to go and she had no means of getting there, or anywhere else without the help of an elf. Her heels echoed off the cavernous walls. She'd given up on trying to memorize direction; it was just too much.

She had dressed finely, grey and russet robes of silk and satin. She wore some of the Nott family jewels around her wrist and neck. It wasn't comfortable looking at herself in the mirror dressed like that, as it wasn't how she saw herself by any stretch of the imagination, but it was expected. She preferred simple, functional clothes, but there was a different standard here, and appearing less than capable was not in her interest.

Tabain had to dress as well and she'd dressed him in a dark suit. He looked adorable, but the purpose was to convey that he was a nobleman, a Nott, and couldn't be swept under the carpet because he was too young to defend himself.

Finally, the elf had taken them to a large set of doors, black lacquered, large enough for giants to enter through if they wished. Livered guards stood at attention by the door and for a moment, Hermione feared they weren't going to let her in.

 _Would that be so bad?_ she asked herself. She could flee from here, back to the safety of their estate, but that was the point—she'd be burying her head in the sand and it wouldn't be safe at all. They would come, strip them off the land and just take it. If she had no power, no influence, she would lose everything—and Tabain his future. No, she had to be strong.

The elf directed the guards, who grudgingly opened the doors. It must be quite an art heaving those large doors while still looking regal.

At first, only the throne was in view and he sat there—looking old. He was a fearsome creature, had overturned the whole land in his quest for power and here he was, looking old. She was almost disappointed, but she knew not to underestimate him. He was the most powerful man in the land, and he had magics no one else could match.

As well as looking old, he looked bored and Hermione wondered if ruling, which he'd worked so long and hard to attain wasn't as exciting as he'd expected it to be. He was a creature of war after all, and now he'd run out of enemies.

He sat looking regal in black and purple robes. Purple, because she assumed it was a regal color, the color of royalty. That was what he was now—the king. Bony knees jutted out under his robes and his wrists lay heavily on the arm rests as if it took too much energy to lift them.

The walls behind him were black velvet and a parapet above him. The walls were silver brocade and the floor was white and grey marble, but a lush carpet let up to the throne. The throne was gold, the only gold in the room. For all she knew, it was solid gold. She wouldn't put it past him.

"His Majesty will receive you now," one of the guards said.

Hermione stepped forward and the view widened, bringing in the people around him, countless people dressed as well as money could buy. Silk, satin, jewels covered every surface Hermione's eyes settled on. She felt conflicting instincts. Primary she wanted to keep an eye on Voldemort, but a whole suite of players revealed themselves—most which didn't think she belonged here. No doubt she was sullying the very air they breathed.

Faces she knew were older and more mature. Some faces and bodies had spread with the years as idle bodies turned to fat. Others looked similar but more mature. All attention turned her way and the room quieted. She saw Marcus Flint, looking harsh and uncompromising, but then he always had. His eyes were weasel hard as they followed her progress. Pansy was there, wearing a gown so shiny black it almost looked liquid. Heavy stones sat around her neck and she raised her eyebrows in surprise as she saw Hermione walking in.

Surely it wasn't a surprise that she had been summoned? Or maybe Pansy's surprise had been that she'd had the guts to show up here. A fission of fear ran through her. Was Pansy right? Was it insane of her to show up? Would Voldemort incinerate her on the spot? Or would she end up in one of those horrid prison cages along the road leading here?

Tabain shifted uncomfortably on her hip, not knowing what was going on and unused to seeing so many people in one place. She had to pull her wits together. Her aim today was to be presented. She kept walking, aware of another set of burning eyes on her, the arrogant, blond Draco Malfoy she'd hoped to never see again. Sneaking a glance, she saw his expression was less than friendly. Icy eyes followed her as she steady walked toward the throne.

She wiped those vicious eyes out of her mind and focused her attention on the man ahead of her, who watched with complete lack of expression as she approached. When close enough, she kneeled, at the same time bowing. If he were to kill her, he'd do so now. Along with her, it seemed the whole room was holding its breath. Even Tabain seemed to pick up on the gravity of the situation and was silent, his eyes large with tension.

"So here you are," Voldemort's horrid voice said. "I'm glad nothing unforeseen happened to you on the roads."

She supposed it was fortunate as desperate people did what they had to on the roads these days. Their desperation was so substantial, Voldemort's harsh punishment was something people believed they had to risk. "I had an uneventful journey," she confirmed as she stood.

Voldemort's gaze studied her face. His regard wasn't friendly, but there was mild curiosity shining out of his cringe-worthy eyes. Hermione held her breath. This man had her life in his hands and no one would stand in his way if he sought to take it from her. That included the guards that stood at his back, standing like statues who would spring to attention on Voldemort's command.

His gaze shifted to Tabain. "And the young master," he said, his voice cracking and creaking like old leather. "A beautiful child. It is an inescapable fact that halfbreeds are the most beautiful, is it not? What must one make of that?"

Hermione wasn't sure she was supposed to answer the question. In any sense, she had no idea how he wanted her to respond. Was it a compliment? Voldemort didn't do compliments. Or was she supposed to walk into a trap, to convey her opinion on the false value structures this man had put in place. No, doing so would be a bad idea. As much as she reviled it, it was this man's belief, and his belief was what mattered—on point of death.

"He has been in blessing to us in every way," she finally said, grateful her voice held steady. She could not show how nervous she was—any weakness. Now she had to reply—a statement innocuous enough to not offend.

The man's gaze lingered on Tabain, almost as if he wished to eat him. Hermione felt her heckles rise along her back, zinging energy out through her arms. This man made her skin crawl. Every instinct told her not to be in his presence.

"Well, there is no us now, is there?" Voldemort stated. Hermione couldn't read the meaning of the sentence. "Which places you in a bit of a pickle," he continued with a wry smile. "But we will see how you do." He sounded almost amused now.

Again, Hermione didn't know how she was supposed to respond. She didn't know what he was referring to. It sounded almost as if she was going to be tested.

"You have done well for yourself," he said, looking down his ugly nose at her, his eyes flashing with malice. He made it sound like she had engineered her position.

"I have been very lucky."

He made a noise as if telling her off for being less than truthful. "Luck tend to favor those intelligent enough to capitalize on it. No, you have climbed high—perhaps bitten off more than you can chew, mudblood. But here you are, ready to face my court. Do you think you can survive here?" His eyes traveled around the room surveying his domain with pride. "They might just eat you alive."

What was he warning her of? Why had he summoned her? Was it for sport, for him to watch his court rip her to pieces? No, she assured herself—she was here to represent the family. Every prominent family needed a representative at court. Voldemort was perhaps only acknowledging that this was a tough crowd. If he truly meant her ill, he would have harmed her. More than a few people would, no doubt, enjoy seeing her tortured in front of them as entertainment.

He waved her away dismissively. A tremble threatened to overtake her now that she seemed to be out of immediate danger. Tabain seemed to have the same sense as he now started fussing. Hermione feared he would start to cry, drawing disapproval from every corner. "We're not home free just yet," she told him quietly. He seemed to pick up on her tension and clasped tightly to her.

Voldemort's attention was now on someone else and Hermione stepped back, retreating back into the room. Well, one question was answered. Voldemort hadn't killed or imprisoned her. That was an important discovery, but it didn't really answer what he wanted her here for. Was her summons a kindness, telling her she needed to take care of her patch? She had no doubts he cared nothing for her. He had never been a champion of her kind, but perhaps he felt he owed the house of Nott the chance to defend itself—even if its champion was less than ideal.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

With a wave of Voldemort's hand, Hermione was dismissed. It was done. She'd been presented; they'd had their little chat and now it was over. But what did this mean? Was Tabain's future secure now? Could they leave? Had the purpose they had been brought here been fulfilled? How she wished it would be that easy, but she doubted it.

For a moment, she didn't know what to do, standing alone in the large hall, surrounded by people. The murmur of discussion escalated as people drew their attention back from the presentation of the newcomer in their midst.

Hermione had no idea what she was supposed to do now, what expectations were on her. Unfortunately, she knew no one who could tell her this.

Slowly, she retreated, still feeling eyes follow her. The men were dressed in finely tailored robes, often with gold or silver accents, while the women were colorful as jewels. Being a very fine gown she wore, it was muted compared to some of the others. One even had peacock feathers down the back of her skirt, the material underneath of aquamarine silk. Jewels sparkled in every direction.

Were most of the riches in the land concentrated in this room? she wondered. Scanning the crowd, she settled on a familiar face, Stewart Ackerley, who had been a year or two younger than her at Hogwarts. This was Hogwarts, she kept on forgetting. It felt nothing like the school she had known now. She hadn't even come across a simple familiar feature.

Not knowing the etiquette made her uncomfortable as she approached Ackerley, but she did it anyway. As she got closer, she noticed Sanford Humberston, as well. He wasn't immediately recognizable at first, having gained some impressive jowls down his cheeks.

"Lady Nott," Stewart said with a slight bow. He was older and this thin. "What a pleasure to make your acquaintance again."

"We heard you married Nott. We were surprised at the time—a pleasant one, of course," Humberston smiled. It was more an awkward grimace, but that was apparently the best he could manage. "So sorry to hear of your loss. Wonderful man."

"Yes, he was," she said, feeling relieved because this was conversation she could manage and these two seemed to have liked and respected Theo. "The whole family is devastated."

"As is the whole court," Ackerley said emphatically. "It was the most shocking news. We saw him only the day before, and he looked perfectly normal."

Humberston shuddered. "It's awful to think one can do so quickly, here one moment, then gone another."

Acklerley seemed to give Humberston a pointed look, but then wiped it from his features. He turned his attention back to Hermione. "So you are to join us. A pleasant addition, I can assure you. And this is your son?"

"Tabain."

"Lovely boy. I can see his father in him. He must be a comfort to you in these difficult times."

Hermione wanted to say that it was made worse when you have to endure such a large change, having to pack up and come here, not knowing for how long or even why. They would have been better off grieving at home, but then she didn't want to sound ungrateful. Instead, she smiled.

She wondered if she could ask them about what she needed to do, but she didn't know them well enough to feel comfortable doing so. This environment was so completely alien, and they were a part of it. "How often do we assemble like this?" she asked tentatively. What she wanted to know was what she was required to attend, but that sounded too blunt, and she had a feeling that giving an indication what she was less than honored to be in their company might not be the best choice. The fact that Theo had never felt that he could say no to any of Voldemort's decrees served as a warning in her head.

"Whenever the liege wants," Humberston said, again smiling. It wasn't exactly a genuine smile, there was a hint of tolerance as if speaking to a child. Maybe that was how he saw her. Who knew what their prejudice against her kind had warped into, but at least they weren't completely shunning her. That would be awful. "I must have a quick word with Taystock. Please excuse me," he said with a bow.

Ackerley, being left alone with her looked awkward as if the conversation had drawn on too long and now there was nothing more to say, but it would be rude to just dump her. Looking around, she saw a table with finger food and wine glasses. "I might seek some refreshment," she said, feeling Tabain squirm on her hip. Hermione was impressed and grateful how tolerant he had been in this situation. Hopefully, in the future, she wouldn't have to bring him. No one else had children with them.

Ackerley looked relieved as being unburdened with her care and nodded as she walked away. Away from safety, she felt the vastness of the room press down on her, along with the disapproval she knew these people felt.

A woman stepped in her path, wearing a light-yellow silk gown, emeralds around her neck. Her dark hair was elaborately decorated with jewels as well. Her haughty expression considered Hermione, and looking at her, she was familiar—Pansy.

"Lady Nott," Pansy said with the slightest curtsy.

Hermione curtsied back. Awkwardly, she didn't know what her title was these days. Pansy's eyebrows rose as if insulted Hermione didn't greet her back, but she couldn't. She couldn't very well call her Pansy, that would be an insult. No doubt, Pansy would have expected Nott to rave on about how fabulous she was, but Nott didn't really talk about any of the people at court.

Another moment of harsh disapproval, Pansy relented. "Lady Vaultier, these days."

Hermione tried to make herself look pleasantly surprised. That was a Durmstrang name, not that Hermione was entirely surprised. Durmstrang was still open, open to those Voldemort approved of. Tabain would likely have to go there, although the teachings of magic were severely restricted these days. Voldemort probably approved every part of the curriculum.

Mostly, she was suspicious for what Pansy wanted. "It is lovely to see you," Hermione finally said. "That is an absolutely amazing gown." A compliment might be the best way of diffusing this situation.

Pansy's eyes traveled down Hermione's gown, the look of boredom clear on her face. She wasn't bored though; she was curious, or she wouldn't have taken the trouble of stepping in Hermione's way. Her eyes shifted to Tabain, an expression of disgust ghosting over her face before she cleared it away. "And young Master Nott." Why in the world would Pansy give such an expression? Hermione wondered, as if Tabain had personally done something to offend her.

Her gaze moved back to Hermione as if she dismissed a pile of dung from her consciousness. Then she smiled broadly. "We are so pleased you have decided to join us."

"Yes, you can imagine how pleased I was to receive the invitation," Hermione said with an equally fake cheerfulness.

"Although I am sure this would all be easier on you if Theo had had the foresight to prepare you. Silly of him really, but I suppose he wanted to… spare you from having to travel so far." Pansy smiled widely, her expectation clear—that Theo had been too embarrassed to present her at court. "It must be difficult coming here not knowing your way, how to behave or even what is expected to from you." Pansy's perceptiveness was disconcerting, as if she knew exactly how confronting this all was for her. "I would, of course, be happy to advise you, if there is anything you wish to know. You have only to ask."

Hermione blinked at the offer—one she had never expected to receive. On the surface, it sounded pleasant and friendly, but Hermione wasn't sure Pansy was capable of either. "That is very kind of you."

She didn't know what else to say, unwilling to burn any bridges at the moment—not until she knew what was going on.

"So many people are curious about you," Pansy continued, now studying her as if she was something interesting and unusual. Hermione got such mixed messages from her. She stepped closer. "Obviously some don't approve of your kind here," she said quietly as if passing on a secret. She stepped back again. "But I think once people get to know you, just prejudices will fall away."

Again, Hermione had no idea how to take this. In some ways, having Pansy as an ally would be immensely helpful, but then the hairs on the back of her neck were on edge, as if she was in immediate danger. No, Pansy made her feel uncomfortable and she wasn't sure she was well served by having any kind of relationship with this woman. Perhaps it was unavoidable in a small place like this, where they more or less lived in each other's pockets.

"Think about my offer," Pansy said, her back and neck impossibly straight. With a nod and a sniff, she floated away, her gown swinging as she moved. Hermione's eyes followed her, but her focus shifted to the man behind Pansy whose attention was unmistakable. Draco Malfoy. Older, broader, but still a complete look of malice.

If anyone did not want her kind here, it was him. He certainly didn't hide his open loathing. He unblinkingly stared at her, but gave no sign of greeting, as if he was watching trash getting up off the floor and walking around the room.

Tabain's fidgeting drew her attention and at the same moment, Malfoy shifted his gaze to Pansy, who had joined his group. She must have said something and Hermione wondered if they were discussing her. Heat flared up her cheeks as she kept walking to the refreshment table. If she guessed right, every person in this room was discussing her.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Hermione didn't know how to feel waking the next day. The view from her bedroom showed the landscape and the sky, gray with clear patches. But the events of the evening before left her feeling heavy and confused. The people here hadn't exactly welcomed her with open arms, but then they hadn't been terrible either. Granted, she hadn't spoken to most of them, and the look Malfoy had thrown her way suggested he wasn't all that impressed with her presence. If it was her or the fact she was there, she didn't know. Others seemed to accept her as Theo's widow. Of Pansy, she had no idea how to feel, but appreciated that she had, for all intents and purposes, reached out.

Tabain was playing contentedly on the floor with the toys they had brought with them. He had a collection around him and intermittently, he returned to his trunk and another out as if he were discovering them after a long time. She smiled as she watched him. Here in these apartments, he seemed to be settling in.

A bell pull hung along the back wall and she wondered who would come if she pulled it. So she tried. It made not sound, no indication that anything happened as a consequence. For all she knew, it didn't work. To find out, she sat down on the sofa and waited.

One of the disconcerting things about this place was its size. She didn't have the means of orientating herself, unable to make sure she found her way back, even if she made it down to the garden far below her she had spied from her balcony. Tabain could use some sun and fresh air.

A quick knock on the door and an elf appeared. "How may I serve you, Lady Nott?" it asked.

"What must I do to procure breakfast?" Hermione asked.

"You have but to say the word and I will bring it."

So they didn't dine in a hall. Hermione was pleased. "Yes, please," she said and the elf disappeared before she could say a word more. Were the elves displeased to serve someone of her status as well, she wondered at the lack of sociability.

With a sigh, she sat down again. The idea of being here still made her feel tense. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but it felt false somehow, a created world to portray Voldemort's wishes. This was apparently what he wished, a court that surrounded him, looked up to him as their king and ruler.

Before long, elves returned, carrying in trays of food—a sumptuous meal. They were denied very little and the choice was more than she could ever manage. Again, they left quickly and Hermione brought Tabain, with toy in hand, to the table.

-0-

Once dressed, Hermione stepped out on the balcony to survey the garden again, trying to determine how to get there. The wind was sharp and cold, playing with her hair. Voices drifted on the winds and when she searched for them, she saw people down in the courtyard below her. A couple of horses were waiting, their hoofs prancing eagerly as they waited. She saw their wings tucked away; they were Pegasus. Someone was preparing to leave and she soon saw a familiar blond head appear below her.

The voices were too muffled to hear anything, but with sharp movements, he mounted the white beast and took the reins. Even without hearing him, she knew he was giving orders. He sat with a straight back as the animal grew impatient.

A knock on the door distracted her. Unsure who would come see her, she walked to the door and was surprised to see Terry Boot. He wore muted robes compared to anyone she'd seen so far.

"Good morning," he said. "May I have a word?"

"Of course," she said, swinging to door open further to let him in.

"You have no servants?" he asked.

"I do not. I wasn't aware I would need one, and I don't know how long I am staying."

"I suggest you retrieve one, acquire one if you must," Terry said and walked swiftly into the room. "You will need someone to see to your comfort." His eyes were distracted by the view for a moment as if he didn't see it so often.

"Do you think I will be here long then?"

"If you are fortunate," he said with a trying smile that held no warmth.

 _What were the unfortunate outcomes_ , she wanted to ask, but she'd seen some of them on the way here. Perhaps he was one of the persons she could ask such questions; she desperately needed someone to advise her and she didn't want to take Pansy up on her offer.

"I am one of the court secretaries," he said with his head held high. "I am responsible for making sure the liege has things the way he wants."

So he was Voldemort's man, she thought. "And in this particular case, what does he want?"

"He, I am sure, wants to ensure you settle in alright." The congenial expression on his face was efficient. That was the best way she could describe it. He wasn't going to tell her any more.

"There is a garden," she said, partially in a way to test him and his usefulness. "I am assuming we can us it." She indicated to the balcony.

"Ah," he said and stepped out. "There are a few. That is the moonlight garden. As its name suggests, it is also beautiful in the moonlight. The liege, at times, likes to spend time in the gardens."

There was still noise down in the courtyard and when Hermione looked down, there was a carriage that hadn't been there before, that Hermione guessed was to follow Malfoy. Malfoy's party in the courtyard started moving, the hooves clatter echoing off the walls until they moved through a portcullis.

"Lord Malfoy is leaving," Hermione said.

"He is returning to his estate."

Hermione was pleasantly surprised, glad to know the person who seemed lest welcoming would not be here.

To her disappointment, Terry continued. "Only for a while. The liege has given him leave to collect his wife."

Hermione hadn't known he'd married, but it was no surprise. "His apartments are here?"

"Yes, he is directly above those gardens you've showed an interest in."

A gust of wind pushed through and Hermione shuddered. So he was close by, neighbors in the scale of this place. Rubbing her arms, she stepped back inside and Terry followed her.

"There is, of course, a ball tonight that you are expected to attend."

"A ball?" Hermione said with a surprised chuckle. "I wouldn't expect Voldemort to be much for dancing."

Terry didn't look amused, no she was getting the impression he took his job much too seriously to be amused by anything Voldemort did. "The liege does not dance, but if there are to be diversions, you are expected to participate."

 _Diversion from what_ , she wanted to ask, but thought better of it. Terry was not going to be an ally. He cared for his position and his position only. She'd met his ilk before.

"As you say," she said tartly. "And how am I to know when these diversions are to take place? If there a herald that will go around and mention them?"

"If there is something you will need to attend, I will send an elf to inform you."

Terry thought highly of himself, which must be difficult here where he, through accident of birth, was not quite good enough and would never be a part of the ruling class. Perhaps it grated him that she, someone so low, was technically above him, expected to participate in the diversions he just mentioned, while he was more or less a glorified servant.

"Then I will look forward to hearing from you," she said with a smile. It didn't reach her eyes, but she suspected it would serve her little not to uphold manners. It might pay to not offend Terry. While lacking in status, she suspected he was part of the oil that made this machine function, and shouldn't be underestimated.

Was he underestimating her though? Probably, as were quite a few people, she was sure—seen as naturally stupid and crude. Granted, she was the person who simple wanted to escape from here.

Terry nodded and took his leave, walking out with his head held high. Unfortunately, he was never going to be an ally. He believed in Voldemort's new social stratification, guarded and resented his place in it, and the stroke of fate that now placed her, an undeserving, above him. Perhaps that was the chink in the new order, the twist that elevated her above herself.

Being alone again, Hermione exhaled and stepped outside, wishing the gusting wind to carry the malaise away from her. She suspected there were ugly undercurrents in Voldemort's new court. How could she be surprised?

In the distance, she saw the now small figures of Malfoy and his party riding away from there. They were moving fast, wasting no time on this journey. Lucky him, she conceded, wishing that was her, riding away from here for good. Would she ever see that day? For the first time, she started to wonder if Voldemort intended to keep her here for quite a while.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The ballroom was surprisingly beautiful. There were mirrors lining the walls and endless candles brightening the space. The ceiling soared above their heads, elaborately carved stone. The very air seemed to sparkle. Again, Hermione felt underdressed. The men wore fine robes and the women wrapped is bright colors, like jewels floating across the parquet floor. She'd never seen a group so finely attired.

For herself, she'd chosen dark colors. She was still in mourning, although that didn't seem to mean anything around here. Still, she couldn't help feeling self-conscious walking into the room, as if she wasn't living up to the standards.

Voldemort sat on what could only be described as a throne, an elevated platform along the back wall, surrounded by rich green velvet. He looked old and miserable, but that then what other way would he look?

Grabbing a champagne off a passing tray, Hermione made her way into the room, skirting around the dancers in the middle of the floor, who all looking elegant as they waltzed around, the women's skirts swinging. She had no idea whether she was to dance that night. Was it expected? And with whom?

Now that she was here, she felt awkward, unsure where she was welcome. She saw Pansy across the room, wearing a red gown with black trim around the waist and skirt. She was talking to some man, leaning close to hear whispered sentiments. No, she definitely didn't want to have anything to do with Pansy and her air of superiority.

She also felt eyes watching her as she made her way around. Perhaps Ackerley would be here and she could join in whatever conversation he had.

"Lady Nott," a man said and she was relieved to join a conversation. Perhaps then, people would stop watching her. "How are you this evening?" He wore satin robes in dark purple. It sat awkwardly on him and looked like he'd owned them for decades.

"Well. Still trying to find my way around."

"You never stop trying to find your way around. He's still growing the city. The size it is now, I think we can rightly call it a city. Maybe then he'll feel safe."

Hermione frowned at the statement. "Safe from whom?" Who did he fear would attack him? He had conquered his enemies already. There was no one left standing; no one had been strong enough to stop him as he'd taken over the land.

"Well, that is the question, isn't it?" the man said, studying her with slightly hazy eyes. "Forgive me, Aldus Crankhurst." Taking her hand, he bowed.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Crankhurst. Lady Hermione Nott."

He seemed pleased that she had the required manners. It made her wonder what they assumed, perhaps due to her birth, she was incapable of basic manners. Maybe she was being ungenerous. She took a sip of her champagne.

"Well, my girl," the endearment didn't escape her and she wondered that it meant. Was this potentially a friend of Theo's she was speaking to? "It is pleasant to have to new blood." Again, Hermione didn't know whether he was pointing out her low birth. "These things do get staid. Although I see one of our more illustrious members are absent tonight."

"Malfoy?" she asked. He was the only person she knew was absent.

"Things do have a way of seeming calmer when he's not here."

Hermione didn't know how to take that, or what it meant. Perhaps Malfoy was one of those persons who just made people uncomfortable. He certainly made her uncomfortable. There had been nothing friendly about him, but then most people hadn't been friendly. This man was perhaps the most friendly she had met so far, others being merely tolerant.

"A cornerstone of the ever shifting factions in this room," he continued, "but tonight the undercurrents are shifting quite dramatically. A victim has been claimed," he said gravely as if in a pantomime and the villain had just been introduced.

"I don't understand."

"Well, you see there has been a move against young Fronsac over there." She followed the direction of his gaze to a man on the other side of the room, whose mouth was drawn tight and he looked murderous. "The Rosenbaums have just gotten Voldemort to award a disputed piece of land in their favor, and young Fronsac never agreed the land was in dispute, but the Rosenbaums are much better at currying the liege's favor. Fronsac is unfortunately too stupid and arrogant to protect his own back, and today, he lost."

"What was the nature of the dispute?" Hermione said, feeling concern creep up her spine.

Crankhurst laughed. "The dispute was that Rosenbaum wanted it and Fronsac wasn't strong enough to stand in his way."

"Surely they can't just strip his land off him."

The man now gave her a look that said she was entirely as uneducated as he expected her to be. "To be so young and innocent," he said as if amused. "Does not spell well for you, my dear, particularly now that all the eyes in this room has turned on you."

Hermione looked around, but didn't see anyone staring at her as such.

"The play between Fronsac and Rosenbaum is but a squabble now that the big game has begun," he continued in a theatrically dire voice.

"What game?"

"Who is to claim the Nott land, of course."

Goose bumps broke out across Hermione's arms and she snapped her eyes back to him. The man was smiling. She almost felt like looking down and seeing a dagger stuck in her heart. That was how it felt. His meaning was more than clear. "The Nott land belongs to my son," she stated, trying to keep her voice steady.

"Well, I hope he has some fortitude, the sharks are circling. It will be fascinating to watch how this all progresses."

"I'm glad it will serve as amusement for you," Hermione said tartly, feeling anger radiate out of every cell.

"It is only right to warn you," he said and drifted away with a wave of his fingers. He had enjoyed informing her of that; Hermione could tell. Well, at least he had been honest, which was more than anyone else. It had gone at his amusement at her expense, however.

So that was why she'd been summoned. This was all a big game for who would claim her land. Thrown in like a lamb amongst the wolves. Nausea gripped her stomach. She wanted to leave, but she wasn't sure she could. She was here because Voldemort wanted her here, was in some way testing her. Was this the reason, that they wanted to strip her estate off her? Was she the blood sport that would keep this court entertained for a while.

She supposed her summons here made sense now. In a way, she wanted to grab that man back and interrogate him on who and how, and what they'd do. Had Ackerley and Humberston know this when she'd spoken to them that first time? Of course they had, she surmised—or at least suspected.

And there were factions. Crankhurst had said so—factions that fought against each other. With renewed sight, she surveyed the room again, her eyes settling on Pansy, who was laughing at someone's joke, or was that familiarity? Her hand seemed to settle possessively on the man's arm and Hermione was fairly certain that wasn't her husband. Were they lovers? What faction did Pansy represent?

Hermione wanted nothing but to walk out the door and put these people behind her, but she knew in her heart Tabain would lose everything if she did. All these people assumed her a stupid mudblood and it would be easy to loosen her grip around her son's inheritance.

Cloying anger practically dripped off her and she looked around the room again. She had been warned she'd landed in a nest of vipers. She saw that now.

If there were factions, then there would be strength. She needed to work out how it worked, and find a way of protecting her son and his land. As disgusted as she felt, she was not going to let these cretins win. They all expected her to simply roll over and comply, but she was not going to let that happen. She had to find a faction, one that would protect her. If only she knew how to do this. Why hadn't Theo prepared her? The answer was clear: because he'd had no expectation of dying and wanted to keep this ugliness from her.

In a way, her adoration of her husband increased, because he'd held his own here. She couldn't let him down by losing the estate—particularly not as easily as Crankhurst believed it would happen.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Hermione sorted the things she needed in her head. Firstly, what were the factions and who belonged where? Then, what were the tensions and what were the rules of the game? Thirdly, how did Voldemort fit into this picture? Crankhurt had said that the Rosenbaums had succeeded by manipulating Voldemort, and Fronsac had been poor at it.

Suddenly, she realized how much she had to learn, but if these people knew her well, they would know that being a pupil was something she excelled at. Perhaps that invitation from Pansy was the perfect opportunity to learn. Instead of staying clear of her when she obviously made Hermione uncomfortable, Hermione would embrace Pansy's proposal to show her the rope. Obviously, she wouldn't believe a word Pansy said, but would study what she said and the meaning behind it.

Her presence in this sumptuous room took on another light. Everyone at this court thought her an idiot. Perhaps that would play in her favor, she thought as she made her way around, taking note of the faces she passed, and who was talking to who. Crankhurst could read the room by looking at it; it was an ability she would have to develop and quickly. It wouldn't serve her to stay on the sidelines as much as possible as she had been planning to do. That truly would be weakness, and she could not afford that.

"Lady Vaultier," she said as she approached Pansy. "You look stunning in that dress."

Pansy turned to her, her eyebrow arched for a moment before she smiled. Again, it didn't exactly reach her eyes. "Lady Nott, you look… sober." Pansy obviously didn't approve of her dark dress.

"Losing my husband, I can't seem to embrace bright colors just yet."

"Perfectly understandable." Pansy considered her again. Hermione wasn't sure what was going on inside her head. Perhaps Pansy was surprised she had dared approach her, maybe wondering if she had taken the invitation at face value. A fleeting grin ghosted over Pansy's features as if she couldn't believe she would be so naïve.

"And who are these gentlemen?" Hermione asked, smiling as she turned her attention. _Yes, I will use you for all I can_ , Hermione thought as she turned a beaming smile to the group. "Please introduce me." Pansy's smile wavered for a moment before she composed herself again and proceeded with introductions.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 6

Hermione paced around the edge of the rectangular pond in the middle of the garden she had finally find her way to. The water was glassy and still, the only movement small fish zipping around under the water. This was a beautiful garden, with lush and green plants along the borders, some of which she'd never seen before.

Tabain walked ahead of her exploring this new space. It was nice to be outside; it was nice to feel the sun on her face. Closing her eyes, Hermione looked up and felt the sun warming her face, chasing the cold seemed to be prevalent in this place. They'd been inside the entire time and it was nice to escape the citadel for a moment.

The previous night returned to Hermione's mind, thoughts buzzing around her head. Something had become clear last night, that she was not going to be able to sit back and just wait for this to be over; she had to be active to protect her interests and her son. The game had become clear now, and had to play her part in it, or simply be a victim. This was a game and she was going to learn how to play, making her initial move last night.

It was an unpleasant task, but she needed to know the players, needed to know who to watch out for. A tea was planned with Pansy later that afternoon and Hermione would attend, knowing full well that Pansy did not have her interest at heart. But that didn't matter, this was about the game.

Looking back up at the towering structure behind her, Hermione sighed. This place was not about making friends, it was about survival.

With every bit of her, she wished she could escape from here, right away and never return. She wondered if everyone else felt the same way. Surely, most of them did, but some would likely thrive in this environment. Others perhaps, did what they had to keep their head above water. For all the luxury here, it was still very much a game of basic survival.

But the one thing she did know, was that Theo had ended up dead and she was certain it wasn't of natural causes. This meant someone was responsible; it also meant this was a place where people ended up dying. There was a murderer here, perhaps more than one.

Hermione looked back and watched her son as he played. New worries crossed her mind. She had to keep him safe, and on order to do that, she had to learn to play this game and to do it well. Pansy was a means to serve that end, even if she couldn't trust her worth a bit.

Was he safe here? Would someone be depraved enough to harm a child? Someone had been depraved enough to harm Theo.

She even considered returning them to the estate, but she also wanted him near. She would have to make that decision soon enough, whether it was safer for him with her.

-0-

It was time to meet with Pansy, but there was still had no means available to her for making her way around. And got lost whenever she left her apartments. But right now she had to fin Pansy's apartments or at least find someone who could direct her.

Turning the corner, she walked down an unfamiliar hall to be met by a person coming the other way, someone wearing black and walking swiftly. She stopped as did the other person. It was Malfoy. It seemed he had returned and he eyed her suspiciously, disapproving showing clearly on his down-drawn mouth. He certainly made no attempts to be cordial, looking down on her like she was consuming air that belonged to him. In his book she, and her kind, didn't belong here.

Hermione instinct was to turn around and leave, feeling uncomfortable under his scrutiny. His blond hair shone in the muted light of the hall. It was impossible to tell whether it was day or night in these halls.

"Lady Nott," he said, his voice merely expressing an observation.

How had she walked the wrong way, come close to Malfoy's apartments? "I seem to be lost," she admitted.

He didn't say anything only stared at her, making no attempts to be cordial or even helpful.

"Perhaps you should retrace your steps," was all he said and walked past. Hermione felt the air currents shift as he moved past her. He didn't smile throughout and now seem to have dismissed her entirely. No doubt, she was utterly inconsequential in his book.

Hermione knew Malfoy was one of the people who felt most strongly that her kind did not belong here—one person she could firmly put in the enemy category. She had no idea what his intentions were, but if her lands were up for grabs, she couldn't see him not being interested. People like him never felt they had enough and wouldn't walk past an opportunity to expand on the wealth they had. What she didn't know, was how active he would be in pursuing them. To some degree, he was more honest than others; he didn't even pretend to be friendly or remotely cordial.

Hermione kept walking until she ran across an elf cleaning a mirror along the walls. "Please, I need to find Lady Vaultier's apartments," she said, to the creature who looked frightened to death at being spoken to.

The elf turned and dropped its rags, seeming to think the problem through. It proceeded to give directions, but Hermione lost track after the tenth item. There was a courtyard, at that point and she would have to find someone else to direct her when she reached it. Was she ever going to find her way in this massive citadel?

Taking a set of stone stairs down she came across a window, but she couldn't make out which direction she was looking in. She did however, see if courtyard off to her right but there was still a disturbing amount of obstacles to get there. At that moment she wished she could fly, just skip over this place and land where she wanted to be. Things to be so much easier if magic was allowed here, but so far she'd seen very little evidence of its existing at all.

She continued walking downstairs endlessly, wondering if she had surpassed the level at which in the courtyard was. She heard a crash as she walked past and open door along the stone walls. The part she had reached had quite different architecture from the part where her apartments were. Perhaps that was the key to finding her way around, noting the different architectures of the haphazard components of the citadel.

Someone swore and winced with pain, a male voice.

"Are you are right in there?" she asked. There were grumblings inside and she stepped in through the doorway. The space inside was messy, jumbled objects lining the walls, but she emerged in what looked like a workshop of some kind. A man sat clasping his hand. "Damn thing," he grumbled. He was an elderly man and there was a jug of some kind toppled on the floor, liquid spilling. There was also smoke, as if the liquid was eating the stone itself. "Are you all right?" she asked, which apparently started the man as if he hadn't noticed her coming in.

"Nothing to worry about," he said. He sounded vaguely familiar and when he looked up, she saw it was Mr. Lovegood, Luna's father. He was different, an old man. Mr. Lovegood, she said. He looked at her, but didn't recognize her. Perhaps that wasn't surprising; he had never been completely insane, as far as Hermione knew. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"No no," he said. "Well, maybe. There are some sawdust over there," he said, pointing to a pail.

Hermione went to grab it and brought it over. "Are you brewing a potion?"

"Yes," he said, "but it is a tricky one. Quite explosive, in some way."

Hermione spread sawdust on the liquid letting it soak through. If it was consuming stone it would consume the sawdust as well, but enough sawdust should see it diluted enough to be disposed of.

"And who are you?" he asked.

"Hermione," she said. "Hermione Nott."

"Nott," he said as if trying to place the name. "I knew of an Ignatius Nott once," he said. "A very long time ago."

"He was a part of my husband family," she said. "Died some time ago." Well before her time.

"Yes well, there are always new generations, aren't they?" he said. "One can't keep up once one lives long enough."

"Have you lived in the city long?"

He checked his watch on his wrist, as if that would tell him. "What's it been? 20 years? No perhaps not that long, 15? It feels much longer. I have nowhere else to go," he admitted. "Not sure I would be allowed to leave, even if I wanted to. Who are you again?"

He didn't remember her name from a minute ago.

"Would you like some tea?" he asked.

"No, I'm afraid I can't. I'm here by happenstance, and I need make my way to the appointment. I heard you cry out."

"I see," he said. "No bother. Nice to make a new acquaintance. One rarely sees new people here."

Hermione smiled, trying to assure the man that she meant no harm.

"Where is that potion?" he asked, turning as he looked around as if he'd misplaced it.

"I think it's built on the floor," Hermione said.

He looked down, seeing the sawdust on the floor. "Oh, that is a shame. I have to start all over again."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Pansy's apartments were cold but sumptuously decorated. The floor were of an icy blue marble, almost of it were frozen water. Gauzy white curtains flowed, showing the air currents that flowed through the rooms. Paintings lined the walls, sharing at Hermione as she walked past. The ceilings were very high and Hermione's steps echoed as she walked further into the apartments, toward where she could hear chatter.

Women sat around a coffee table on white settees, their gown artfully displayed. Now that she looked, she saw that all furniture was white. It gave the space a very cold feeling, to go along with the low temperature. Pansy wore a dark blue gown, her pale arms gracefully folded in her lap.

"Lady Nott," Pansy said brightly, with a hint of surprise in her voice. Did she doubt Hermione would come?

"Lady Vaultier," Hermione said in an equally bright tone. "Thank you again for this wonderful invitation." Hermione took a spare seat and eyed the silver tea service. They were having tea. Anything warm would be welcome. Pansy seemed unbothered by the cold. Did they keep it so in order to make people uncomfortable, she wondered, or was she just cold blooded?

"You know Madame Rosenbaum, of course," Pansy said, introducing the women around the low table. "Lady Alicia Fudge, Lady Minette Carrow and, of course, the indomitable Florence Yaxley." Hermione knew of these ladies, but she had never men them.

They all considered her with cold interest. Hardly a welcoming group, but that was fine. Hermione wasn't here to make friends. None of them were remotely close to someone she would ever view as a friend.

"Would you like tea?" Pansy asked.

"I would love one."

All were silent as Pansy poured a tea into an icy blue china cup, with remarkable similar color to the floor. Even though steam rose from the cup, it almost surprised Hermione that it was warm when she accepted it. Silence continued until she took a sip and for a moment, she hesitated, wondering if it was poisoned. An irrational though, perhaps, but she couldn't ignore that it had fleeted through her head. It tasted like tea.

"Such an interesting week," Alicia Fudge said, her hair elaborately formed on top of her head. She had a little snub nose that made it seem as if she looked down on everything. "Astoria is back, of course, darling Astoria."

"Unfortunately she couldn't come today," Pansy said. "Still settling in. It is a tiresome journey from what I understand."

Hermione wasn't sure who this woman was that they were talking about.

"She has been missed, of course," the Carrow woman said, but there was the tiniest hint of downturned corners to her mouth and an amusement about it.

"No doubt, she's been recalled to do her duty," Yaxley said tartly and Pansy tsked her, but she looked unrepentant.

"Trust anyone to be cold, it would be Astoria," Carrow said as if delighting in the statement. Yaxley laughed.

"Ladies, ungenerous," Pansy chided, but not terribly forcefully. She turned her attention to Hermione. "And how are you finding your apartments. I understand it you never came before."

"I did not. The apartments are well appointed. There are, of course, constant reminders of my husband, which are painful."

The women watched her without expression, as if they were studying her, trying to make up their minds what kind of creature she was. Perhaps she was a novelty, but she knew that some of these women were unlikely to approve of her by the nature of her birth. Hermione could imagine the vicious things they would have said about her when Theo's marriage had become known. She couldn't image it wasn't commented on.

Once, she had met one of these women, a Lady Gibbon in one of the villages, before Hermione had married, and the woman had called her a beast and demanded she get out of the way. It had shocked Hermione at the time, even though she had heard about these people's blatant disregard. Did these women, hidden behind their polite smiles, think her a beast? They kept their tongues quiet if they did, or said it behind her back.

They lost interest in Hermione and turned their attention away. "I always suspected it was Malfoy that sent her away. The liege always liked her, so I am sure it wasn't his insistence that caused her absence."

Hermione's attention sharpened. Astoria must be Malfoy's wife, who had returned with him after his absence.

"I can't see Astoria asking to be send away, shut away out in the middle of nowhere without anyone to talk to," Lady Fudge said with a visible shudder. "Poor thing. She must be starved for company."

"Perhaps Malfoy was punishing her," Carrow said.

"As he should," Yaxley contributed pointedly.

"Well, nothing happens if man and wife are apart, does it?" Madame Rosenbaum said.

"Her position is going to be decidedly precarious if she doesn't produce," Yaxley said. Produce? Did they mean an heir? Had Malfoy no children?

As little as Hermione knew about the things of importance amongst this society, heirs were of supreme importance. What did that mean? Did that make Malfoy more or less of a threat? Was there a point in taking more land if there was no heir? Was she safe from Malfoy?

"What does happen if he doesn't produce?" Hermione asked. It was a reasonable question, she thought. The women stared at her.

"I think the question if more what happens to Astoria if _she_ doesn't produce," Yaxley said. Yaxley was the most vitriolic of the lot in relation to Astoria, and Hermione suspected there was history there. Or was she simply mean-spirited. Carrow seemed more mean-spirited.

"He must produce," Pansy said. "If the marriage cannot, then at some point, it must be dissolved."

"Perhaps if she wasn't so cold, they would have more luck. Poor Draco must freeze when he touches her," Carrow said with a snigger.

Pansy slapped her lightly on the arm. "The liege is fond of Astoria," Pansy stated.

"Her only saving grace." Yaxley's mouth drew together and she sipped her tea.

"Admittedly, I have never observed any particular fondness between the Malfoys," Lady Rosenbaum said, but interest in the topic seemed to have fizzled out.

To Hermione, the whole issue around Malfoy was a big question mark. He appeared to be a strong force in this court, but this new information meant he had a big weakness.

She set to wondering about these women. The way they attacked Astoria—was it just gossip, or was it because they were beneath her, stabbing at the powerful when their backs were turned.

Hermione's biggest problem was that she didn't understand how power worked here. Did she have any of her own? She must, or she would never have been accepted here. They'd been forced to accept her, well, grudgingly, because she had power. She just didn't know how much, or really how to yield it. But then, maybe she had very little and she was just sport as she had suspected a few nights back.

Another interesting thing she'd learned today was that the liege had favorites. What did that mean? Some of these women seemed to imply Lady Malfoy was protected from her husband because of that favor. A shiver ran down her spine imagining having to protect oneself from one's husband. This was the culture that Theo had partially tried to get away from by marrying her. She felt a rush of sad longing. Never again would they spend languid mornings in bed, warm and snug.

Chatter continued around her and as time went by, it became clear that they had no real interest in her. They didn't ask anything about her, weren't interested. Perhaps in their eyes, she wasn't interesting. She had no history other than her marriage with Theo; she had no alliances or schemes—being a brand new person that had simply appeared at court. She had no family or connections to anyone. They dismissed her. Innately, she had no value as a person. There was an option to take it personally, or simply as a consequence of her low birth, but considering how they treated Astoria, no one seemed to had any personal value here. Her importance would be in the power she yielded.

Alicia Fudge turned to her. From what Hermione had observed, she was less horrid than the others. "I suppose you will seek to marry again," she said to Hermione's surprise.

"Excuse me?"

"To secure your position," she said as if it was the only logical extension. The woman now wondered if Hermione was dense; she could see it in her eyes. The thought hadn't even occurred to Hermione. Was that what they expected? Were they waiting to see who she'd aligned herself with? Of course they were. Family alliances—marriages—had importance here. They were waiting to see who she aligned her estate with, and if she could pull it off before someone wretches her lands from her. There was the game, and the reason these women were tolerant of her presence—because she would have more power when she made her move—if she managed.

Hermione felt like throwing up, her stomach churning. Still so raw from her loss, she couldn't even contemplate interest in another man. Her head was still full of pain and longing. Let alone trying to imagine some man touching her—one she picked for the purpose of power. For a moment, she could sympathize with Astoria and the position she was on. Sleeping with someone for politics turned her stomach.

An elf brought out cucumber sandwiches on a silver tray and put it down on the table. It scurried away without anyone taking notice of it. "More tea, anyone?" Pansy said brightly.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The russet silk gown fit her beautifully. She'd had to have it made just for an occasion like this. Apparently Voldemort liked the idea of a refined society, which included dances, or balls—she wasn't exactly sure which it was tonight. The point, however, was to dress up in their finery and parade around.

With a sigh, Hermione watched herself in the mirror. The emeralds around her neck contrasted with her pale skin. They sparkled as did her eyes in the muted lights of candles. The necklace belonged to the Nott family along with other jewels that had traveled in a case with her when she'd come. She hated this, having to dress up, but it was all part of the game. Voldemort wanted a ball, so they were all complying.

A night sitting by the fire reading would be her ideal choice, not having to tread the waters with all of this court's predators. Each evening she spent with these people, she saw new dangers. No one had their intentions written on their faces; they were hidden behind the polite smiles. Or they just scowled like Malfoy did.

A clock chimed. It was time to go. Her skirt rustled as she walked. She checked on Tabain who was sleeping sweetly, watched by the girl that had been sent from the Nott estate. Hermione refused to hire someone from here; she didn't trust anyone who hadn't grown up in the Nott house. Who knew the past of anyone who worked at the citadel.

An elf waited outside, ready to take her wherever she needed to go that evening. She still couldn't find most places, but she could now safely make her way down to the garden and back. They walked down there every day and it was always deserted.

It took time to walk through endless corridors before they reached a hall of some sort. It wasn't one she had seen before. Murals covered the walls and ceiling, showing scenes from history, scenes she was fairly certain weren't always true. This was Voldemort's vision of the past—history as he wanted it.

Hundreds of candles surrounded them, floating above their heads and along the walls. Women with their gowns, looked like they floated across the floor. Even some of the men wore bright silk robes tonight. Everyone milled around discussing amongst themselves. What were they talking about, Hermione wondered. No doubt they were gossiping, even scheming. Eyes turned to her as she walked past, making her intensely aware that she was alone.

Making her even more nervous was the fact that she had to dance. It had been a very long time since she'd danced formally—a past life, really. She could barely remember steps to any of them. Would she be ridiculed and whispered about if she messed up the steps? Would people say it was a sign of her low birth? She felt they were still looking for evidence that she wasn't as good as them.

Collectively attention shifted away from her to somewhere behind her. Hermione turned to see what was suddenly so interesting. At the door was a beautiful, dark-haired woman Hermione had never seen before. She had high cheekbones and a sharp jaw, beautiful eyes, blue unless the candle light lied. Her gown was light green and heavy diamonds accented her neck, wrists and ears.

This was the woman everyone watched. Her head was held high and she looked almost bored. Emerging from the dark behind her was Malfoy, looking not just bored, but grim as well. It dawned on Hermione that this must be Astoria, his wife and the woman Pansy and her cronies had all been talking about.

Astoria had a fan and she snapped it open with a crack, waiting for Malfoy to catch up with her so she could take his arm. Malfoy never looked friendly, or happy, as far as Hermione had ever seen, but she could see the truth in the statement that there was no love lost between these two. A political marriage, which had probably gain the families things of more importance than happiness.

She had to wonder at the pressure on Theo to marry well and the scandal when he'd chosen to marry for love, someone of low birth too. Maybe his decision was now a family cross to bear now that he was dead and his widow left to protect the estate against the circling sharks.

As Hermione had done, Astoria walked past everyone through the center of the room to where Voldemort was sitting on his raided platform. She was to be presented, letting go of Malfoy's arm and doing a deep curtsey.

"You have returned to us, Lady Malfoy," Voldemort said softly, his beady eyes watching her intently. "I hope you enjoyed the solitude of the country."

"It was very restorative," she said, her voice high and sharp. "I am, of course, most pleased to be back in such splendid company."

Voldemort twisted his head and considered her. "Let's hope it doesn't lead you astray."

Every person in the room was watching this exchange, trying to figure out the subtext to the things being said, and if anything shifted in the process. From the discussion of Pansy's acquaintances, Hermione knew she had been sent away by Voldemort and she was now being warned against being led astray—which meant what, exactly? Had she been led astray and been punished for it?

Nothing was given away by Malfoy's face, but when Astoria was dismissed by Voldemort, Malfoy didn't return to his wife's side. Instead, Pansy was at Astoria's side, walking arm in arm as if best friends had been reunited.

Seeing Alicia Fudge standing by her husband, Hermione greeted her. She seemed the kindest of the women, maybe the safest harbor she could find. Alicia introduced her husband, Delwart Fudge, a man with large eyes and yellowish blond hair.

"I don't think you've met Lady Nott," Pansy's drawn tones sounded behind Hermione. Wishing she didn't have to, she turned around and met the two women. Astoria's eyes were definitely blue, the same shade as sapphires. She certainly was beautiful.

"I have not," Astoria said, openly studying her. "The mudblood," she continued as if that was extraordinary.

Hermione smiled tightly. What could she say? It was true, even if incredibly rude to introduce oneself with that statement. "Lady Malfoy," Hermione said through gritted teeth.

"She is here with the young master Nott," Pansy continued.

"Oh?" Astoria said, looking around.

"Well asleep," Hermione said.

"And how are you finding court life?" Astoria said.

"Never a dull moment." Hermione refused to elaborate, refusing to make this meeting less awkward than it was.

"We certainly don't like dullness here, much less dull conversation."

Hermione was being told off, but she didn't care. She had no interest pandering to this woman as apparently was expected of her.

Astoria's staring was unrelenting. "You must dance, of course. It is a ball, after all."

"Of course," Hermione said, not exactly sure what was going on, but she refused to be cowered.

"Perhaps the Bernhild Cross. It has the most _simple_ steps," Astoria said, almost pityingly.

Hermione itched to argue, but she really couldn't take on something more complicated. "Good advice. I am a novice, after all." What harm was it denying it? Would it serve her to lie? Unless Astoria had lied and just now recommended the most complicated dance, but Hermione suspected she hadn't. She doubted Astoria went in for such simple misdirection. No, her insult had already been delivered.

"Charming woman," Hermione said as Pansy and Astoria moved away. She fought to keep a straight face saying it. Alicia Fudge only smiled and Hermione had to wonder if she was simple. Maybe she was someone who refused to react whatever way the wind was blowing. As a strategy, Hermione wondered how that worked. It couldn't do wonders for the self-respect.

Hermione was aware that she had painted herself into a corner, being goaded into dancing. She had recruited Stanford Humberston for the task, who she saw as a harmless choice that wouldn't cause too much of a stir.

They lined up, facing each other and nerves fluttered around Hermione's stomach. She didn't know the steps, but she wasn't absolute imbecilic. Hopefully she could fudge her way through.

She was a step behind at first and she felt herself flush, but the steps were remarkably simple so she caught up. The dance forming little squares inside a big square. Two with Humberston's arms around her waist, then two turning ones without, but in the end, she had ended up facing Dugal Churing, and looking around in panic, she realized this was supposed to happen. She now had to repeat the whole thing again with his hot hand on her waist. She smiled uncomfortably, but it got worse, because the next person she landed across from was Malfoy.

"Lady Nott," he said coldly. As opposed to others in silks and satins, he wore black. In fact, she'd never seen him wearing anything but.

"Lord Malfoy." An instinct told her to step back when his hand reached for her waist. She felt trapped there with the person who, from what she could gather, liked her kind the least. He, most definitely, did not wish her well, and in the game for her lands, he would be a player. They both seemed to know it, so it was awkward pretending this familiar regard within the confines of a dance. Like a respectful bow before the fight starts.

"Are you enjoying the evening?" he said. His cold eyes were on her, testing her in some way. Or was this a predator playing with its prey?

She couldn't be honest, because apparently, Voldemort didn't like the diversions he put on to be disparaged. "It is certainly very bright with all the colorful dresses and jewels in the room."

"You are impressed by such things," he stated as if it were fact, as if someone like her couldn't be anything but awed by the opulence. Emphatically, she wanted to deny it, but would that serve her? Was she better off with Malfoy thinking her a wide-eyed moron?

Her arm leaned on his as they turned and she looked away, refusing to confirm or deny her lack of intelligent thought. Then, to her immense relief, they shifted apart and she ended up with Lucas Bridgetonne to repeat the whole thing before ending back with Humberston.

Mercifully the dance ended and she had survived. Her nerves might not exactly be intact, but she had made it through without substantial embarrassment. Could she now avoid the dancefloor for the rest of the night, she wondered?

Malfoy was on the other side of the room, stoic and grim as always, drawn into discussion with a group of men. She couldn't believe she'd ended up dancing with him, the one person she would never ask, and she'd been in his arms—not terribly close, but close enough. There was almost something indecent about that.

But something was wrong. There was too much attention on her. Whispers and arrogant looks seemed directed at her. Humberston was too much of a gentleman to dump her so quickly and Ackerley joined them. Refusing to show concern, she greeted him, but was intensely aware that too much attention was on her. Was it because two enemies had swung around the dancefloor at a distant embrace?

"They were whispering, my dear," Ackerley said quietly.

Hermione turned her attention to him. "What now?"

"Some seem to question your authenticity."

"What? How it is I'm not authentic. Enough people here came to dine with myself and Theo to know we were married."

"Well, they question whether your son is really his," Ackerley said in whispered apologetically.

"That's ridiculous."

"Merely gossip, my lady," Humberston said dismissively as if it had no consequence whatsoever.

No, this rumor would not be going around if it had no consequence. Hermione's mind was racing. It was a ludicrous claim. What could they hope to gain by it, and who was spreading it? "Where is this coming from?"

"These things just spread," Ackerley said kindly.

No, they don't just spread. Someone was spreading them, and they had some intention behind it.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Hermione was furious. It was one thing to attack her, but to attack her innocent son, too small to defend himself—that was despicable. It was so unfair. People shouldn't be allowed to do that, but they used anything at their disposal to cause trouble. This certainly wasn't a place for more noble sentiments, such as not attacking a child.

She didn't know what to do about it—what was the best way to react. Part of her wanted to rant at them, tell them how awful they were and that their scheming only showed how base their characters were, but that wouldn't achieve anything. She could well imagine the sneers she would receive if she lost her cool. There would be consequences of something like that, highlighting herself to be targeted for others, or even Voldemort himself.

No, acting impetuous and responding would not be the best course of action. For all she knew, this rumor might well have been started for that express purpose—to discredit her based on her reaction.

But then there was the bigger issue of the substance of the rumor—Tabain's parentage. Hermione knew accusations could take on a life of their own. Trying to discredit Tabain as the rightful owner of the Nott estate could be a tactic that worked as it was largely unprovable—but that pertained to every single person at the court as well. As a tactic it was as dangerous for her as it was for everyone else, but then not everyone cared for longer term consequences in a place like this.

Pacing her apartments, Hermione considered what to do, how to respond to this. Should she just ignore it, which was a possibility because no one could prove he wasn't Theo's son either. It seemed a reasonable reaction, but she worried that the person who spread this would keep doing it, keep bleating until people started believing it. Belief was sometimes more powerful that truth—or logic. People believing the rumors could be more damaging than anything else, and for this, she really had no recourse.

Perhaps the only thing she could do was to bring the dowager Lady Nott, Theo's mother, to court to add gravitas to her insistence that Tabain was the rightful Nott heir. Hermione was certain the dowager would state with certainty that there was no other possibility. It was perhaps the only thing she could do, if she had to. The dowager would come if she was needed, although Hermione hoped she didn't have to ask her to come.

It could be that this rumor had gotten little traction and would go away. That would be the best possible outcome. She would have to pay close attention to see whether she needed to act.

The weather was mild, but gray, heavy clouds rolling across the vast valley. It would rain later. Darker clouds threatened on the horizon. If they were to spend some time in the garden, they had to do so that morning, rather than wait until the afternoon.

Turning away for the window, she watched as Tabain played with his toys. Looking up, he smiled at her, the dimples in his cheeks appearing. Love flared in her heart and she walked over and crouched by him.

How could anyone doubt his father when he looked just like him? Anyone who knew Theo would see that. But the people who were spreading this rumor didn't care about the truth. That was not what this was about.

"Would you like to go down to the garden? Maybe we can bring the little sailboat and we can launch in on the pond. The wind would be good for sailing today."

Tabain nodded, his large, clear hazel eyes eager and excited.

"Marie," Hermione called and stood. "We must dress to go to down to the garden."

The girl appeared and took Tabain away to dress, while Hermione went to her wardrobe to grab her cloak.

Before long, they assembled again, Tabain holding Marie's hand, tightly buttoned up in his little coat. They walked out into the hallway and Hermione prayed she wouldn't run into either of the Malfoys on the way. Draco made her uncomfortable and Astoria hadn't left a particularly good impression either. What a horrendous pairing. They were both beautiful, but so remote and distant it chilled to the bone. From what she'd heard, they chilled each other as well, but perhaps they preferred it that way.

Her luck held and she didn't encounter anyone in the cavernous halls, that still managed to feel unwelcoming and oppressive. They walked down staircases of mahogany, at one point seeing out over the garden through a small window. Did anyone other than her use these staircases, she wondered. The craftsmen had worked to create this complex and little of it was of use to anyone.

The door to Mr. Lovegood's apartments were open and Hermione paused, turning back to Marie. "Go ahead. I'll be a moment."

An unctuous smell fleeted out of the doorway. "Mr. Lovegood?" she called, hoping that smell didn't indicate something unfortunate has happened. No response came back. "Mr. Lovegood?" she called louder.

After a moment, a rustle sounded. She stepped inside the apartment. Books and other materials stacked up the side of the walls, leaving a little walkway into the bowls of the apartment.

"Who's there?" he called and Hermione sighed her relief that everything seemed fine.

"It's Hermione Nott," she called. "What is that smell?"

"What smell?"

"It's really pungent," she said, trying it clear it from her nose with her hand.

"Oh, that. It's nothing."

Mr. Lovegood appeared around the corner, dressed in worn robes, which she didn't care to guess had last been cleaned. "Just a potion," he said. "It is in that awkward phase. Who are you again?"

"Hermione Nott. I came to visit you a week or so back, remember?"

Nodding absently, he went to rummage through a pile of things, obviously searching for someone. "How can I help you?" he said.

"I saw your door was open and just came to say hello, but I see that you are busy." It really did stink in there. Maybe she should leave. "Actually, Mr. Lovegood, I am wondering if you can help me answer something. Is it possible to prove the parentage of a child?"

He stopped what he was doing for a moment. "There is a spell, a very old one that can do so. It involves water as a conduit. Rarely used these days."

"So it can be done? What if the parent is deceased?"

"That would be trickier; it would require deeper magics."

"But it can be done?"

"With a skilled sorcerer."

"Can you do it?"

He paused for a moment. "I have read about it somewhere, but I don't remember where."

Hermione looked at the mountain of jumbled parchment, books and other things. "It's just that someone is threatening my son by spreading doubt as it his heritage."

"That isn't very nice. Is it true?"

"No!" she said, trying to not be offended. "Of course not."

"Then you have nothing to worry about, do you? The truth always comes out," he said as if warning her.

"I want the truth to come out."

The man shrugged and adjusted the waistband on this trousers before moving to another pile of material. "Give me a few days and I'll find the spell. If not, you might have to remind me."

He started sorting through, finding some brass contraption he obviously wasn't expecting, holding it up to examine it.

Hermione turned and made her way out, glad to find fresh air again. She hated to admit it, but she was eager to get away. Mr. Lovegood, although not grasping and backstabbing like others here, wasn't necessarily friendly either. Well, that had been a fruitful excursion. She now had a means of dealing with this rumor if she had to. She felt assured this didn't pose a real threat anymore. No matter how it unfolded, she had a means of proving them wrong.

-0-

A note came in the afternoon, informing her that Alfred Tilley wished to call. As far as Hermione knew, she couldn't recall meeting this man. The card what plain and crisp, written on heavy paper. Someone had taken time choosing this, she would guess.

She decided to accept it, primarily as she had no clue why this person was calling on her. They would be there eminently and Hermione sat in the formal seating area and waited. There was a sofa and a set of chairs what were distinctly for this purpose—receiving callers.

Tabain was asleep, having his afternoon nap. Hopefully this, whatever it was, wouldn't take too long.

She heard some shuffling sounds, then two men and a woman were shown in. There was a younger man, and two older persons. The family resemblance made her sure this was a son and his parents. Hermione stood as they approached and the men bowed while the woman curtseyed.

"We are honored that you have taken the time to receive us," the son said. "Delighted, actually."

The man seemed nervous as he sat down and then quickly readjusted his seat.

"These are beautiful apartments," the woman said with a bright smile. "Very nicely decorated."

"Thank you," Hermione said, not sure if it would serve to say she'd had no hand in the decoration.

In fact, they all looked nervous. The woman's beaming smile didn't budge and the young man was still not comfortable in his seat.

"We have lands north of here," the woman started. "A quite sizeable portion, and the Tilley family is old and well respected."

 _That's nice_ , Hermione thought to herself, still trying to discern the purpose of this visit.

The son seemed to take over, staring at her intently. "An alignment between our families would be a tremendous benefit to both, hence the reason we come here today."

"Oh?" Hermione asked, still not clear what he was referring to.

The mother spoke up again. "It would be a considerable honor if you would join our Alfred here in matrimony."

Realization struck Hermione, an entirely unexpected development. Her eyebrows raised, she was too astonished to speak for a moment. This man was a complete stranger to her—how could they propose they marry? It was the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard, and now she didn't know how to react. "Uhm," she started, still not knowing what to say. "I am very recently widowed, and am still grieving the loss of my husband."

"It's too soon," the woman said, looking flustered. "I told you it would be too soon," she muttered sharply to the men in her family.

"It's just that we're thinking of the future," the son said. "While your sorrow for your late husband is commendable, one must turn one's thoughts to the future. An opportunity to insure an alignment must be seized upon."

Hermione just stared at them, not knowing what to say. The woman hissed, obviously realizing this was going disastrously. "I am so pleased to hear you find my grief for my husband… commendable, Mr. Tilley. It will also preclude me from considering joining myself to any man for the foreseeable future."

"But that is irresponsible," the father, who had been silent up until now, pitched in.

"Martin," the woman warned.

"In light of my apparent and persistent irresponsibility, perhaps you should seek a wife for your son elsewhere," Hermione said as coolly as if dismissing a bothersome interruption. "I'm afraid an alignment between the Tilley house and the house of Nott won't be possible."

Perhaps she shouldn't have outright dismissed it, but these people really annoyed her. And the son persistently riding roughshod over her perspective said quite clearly she would have to be in absolute dire straits to even consider marrying someone like him. Also, the estimable house of Tilley was one she had never heard of, which suggested these people were trying their luck—probably hoping to catch her off kilter and confused enough to consider such a proposal.

With fluster, they bid farewell and were shown out.

Hermione still couldn't believe their impertinence, and hoped they weren't simply the first in a line of others, hoping to succeed by getting their proposal before the others. With a deep sigh, she rubbed her temples.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Ideally, she would never have to go through something as painfully embarrassing as the Tilley proposal again. The gall of the people. Perhaps they were the front runners, the ones too insensitive to believe it was no time too soon for such a suggestion—which indicated that more would come. In fact, anyone who wanted to add to their land, and hence power, would see a benefit in marriage to her.

This all made her feel trapped, as well as disgusted. Was she to endure more of this? And the fact that the Tilley's had seemed unwilling to take no for an answer had made it so much worse. It all made her feel queasy.

It did make it clear though, that the expectation was that something would give, that her land would be claimed one way or another.

Perhaps there was some way she could fight, could gain the influence she obviously needed—without having to tie herself to some family. She couldn't imagine having to marry someone as a business transaction. That was not what marriage was in her book, but these people saw things differently.

The ache to get away from the citadel sat like a cinder in her chest. What she wouldn't give to just head out on the road away from here to never look back, but she couldn't. She would lose everything. This game wouldn't stop if she refused to play.

Tabain wandered out of the bedroom where he had been playing, having grown bored and now sought diversion. "Hello, my little man," she said and squatted down to his level, looking into his lovely, clear eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"Sail," he said, holding up the little sailing boat.

"You want to go sail? Well, you will have to find your coat if you want to go down to the garden. Is that what you want?"

He nodded and headed off to the bedroom to search for a coat. Hermione smiled at his obvious determination, although he returned with his dressing gown.

"Well, we might have to go with something a little more rain proof. I wouldn't be surprised if there is a shower when we're down there."

Seeking the wardrobe, she pulled out a small coat and helped him put it on. The fires of the apartments kept their space warm, but the halls outside weren't much warmer than the outside air.

"You hold the boat tightly when we walk down the stairs," she said, taking his warm little hand. They walked along the corridor, knowing exactly where to go now. As per usual, she met no one on the way.

The garden was deserted as well, and Tabain walked over and launched the small wooden boat at the edge of the pond, where the wind carried it out along the large rectangular body of water. If the wind died, she would have to go out there and fetch it, but with the gusts rustling the branches over their heads, that was unlikely to happen. Still, she prayed it would never happen, particularly as here were fish in the pond, occasionally splashing their tails along the surface.

A movement appeared in the corner of her eye. Someone was with them, and that had never happened before. Immediately, her heart rate increased.

"Lady Nott," she heard and looked over to see Draco Malfoy appearing from behind a cypress across the other side of the pond.

"Lord Malfoy," she said, forming an abrupt curtsey, feeling her palms itch with nervousness. They had never really spoken before. He wore black robes, his pale skin in stark contrast. What did he want?

"I trust you are well," he said, his voice smooth and deep. His eyes pierced through her and she hated the intensity of his attention.

"Of course, just getting some outside air."

He didn't say anything further for a moment, then his eyes shifted to Tabain who was now pushing the little sailboat along the water with a stick. "Seems you are settling in well."

Was that an accusation? She couldn't read him as there was a blankness on his face that could hide anything.

"My son is fond of sailing it seems."

"Your lands are too far from the sea to capitalize on such a preference."

Again, discomfort worked its way up along her spine. "Just taking a round in the garden?"

His gray eyes returned to her again, slightly raised. No, she'd never seen him in the garden before, so she suspected he'd come specifically to speak to her. At least a proposal was out of the running. "I understand you wife has joined you. We were briefly introduced the other night." She had never been formally introduced to him, but they'd briefly ended up partners in a dance.

"Yes, she has," he said. There was no emotion on his face at the statement.

Hermione wondered what their marriage had achieved. It would have been a transaction of strength and benefit. One not involving love. Had he never loved anyone, and errand thought snuck into her mind.

There was no natural progression in this conversation, and this was the perfect point to say something meaningless before walking away, but he made no move to. She would have to do it. "By your leave," she finally said with a slight bow of her head.

He smiled, a grin more like, as if she was being foolish and stupid. Annoyance flashed through her. "I thought we should perhaps have a little conversation."

So he had specifically come down to see her, no doubt seeing her from his apartments above the garden. "Oh? What concerning?"

"You handing your lands over to me." He said is so casually, as if it was the most logical thing in the world.

In fact, she was astounded. "And why would I do that?"

"Well, now, I suspect you are a woman who would rather circumvent the whole nasty business that will ensue and go straight to the conclusion."

"Which is that you will acquire my lands?"

"Naturally."

She didn't actually know what to say. The gall of the man robbed her of words. Well, he certainly didn't hide what his intentions were. There were a million things that were rushing up her throat, but she had to check herself. Her gut reaction wasn't perhaps as ladylike as it should be. Was this some kind of test? He couldn't be serious.

Crossing her arms, she was still trying to decide how to proceed with this. The serene expression on her face suggested he was serious. "I'm not sure that's in the Nott family's best interests," she finally said.

"Best interest is a tricky things. Sometimes a small victory is better than a large loss."

"Assuming large loss."

He smiled. Perfect white teeth underneath those full lips. There was no denying he was beautiful, disturbingly so, but he also couldn't quite hide the blackness of the heart underneath. He was the consummate player of this game, and perhaps that was what he was trying to convey. "I don't think you understand how precarious your situation is." He tsked and took a few steps along the side of the pond. "In return for your land, I will pledge you my protection."

There was probably no point conveying her ignorance by questioning what she needed protection from. True, she might not know, but would it serve her to appear utterly ignorant?

"It is not an offer to scoff at, Lady Nott."

"A price I am unable to pay."

He considered her for a moment. "Your alternative means you will land in a much worse position. The only safety in these lands requires protection from someone powerful, and you are alone here, set to weather a storm that _will_ tear your house down."

"You will never have my lands, Lord Malfoy."

He smiled as if she was a petulant child. "If you truly wish to ensure the safety of your son, you should consider my offer. I can be a generous protector—and I certainly have more power than you would gather in an alliance with someone like Tilley." The look he gave her was supposed to communicate she was gravely miscalculating—not that she for a moment would consider marrying someone like Tilley. More importantly, Malfoy know of the proposal, and she was fairly sure the Tilley's hadn't taken him into their confidence. "Be careful, because someone like Tilley would have his house torn down in the process if you choose your alliance wrong. I offer you protection, true protection. You will live well and will never want for anything."

As much as she hated it, the words were seductive. It was what she wanted, what she ached for, but the cost would be Tabain's future. It was the means out of this game she so desperately wished for. But that was the point of temptation, to make you harm yourself in exchange for your desire.

"Never," she said. Truth be told, she couldn't even allow herself to consider it for a moment. Her job was to protect Tabain, not to seek an easy way out. She smiled tightly.

"I suggest you reconsider. The option will only be on the table for a short time. Then you will be fair game. If I must wrench it from you, I will show you no mercy." With a last look, he stepped away, strolled down the path at a leisurely pace. The white gravel crunched under his feet until he disappeared.

"It's sailing," Tabain said with excitement. Hermione turned to see the boat moving at some speed down the length of the pond.

The tension sat even tighter in her shoulders now. Malfoy had been open with his intentions—to take her land any way he could. But she wasn't entirely powerless in this. She had power. Her marriage was the obvious one, and maybe Malfoy was right that if it wasn't strong enough, they would go down with her. Marriage couldn't be the only alliance that could be forged. Powerful families protected their interested and maybe there was a way to align interests—economic interests. At the heart, that's what drove this place, and she had to find some way of recruiting someone who Malfoy couldn't budge. She had to exhaust any other price for protection than her land or her hand in marriage. Now, she just had to work out a way.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The coolness of the marble under Hermione's feet soaked through the slim soles of her slippers as she paced around the apartment, her eyes on the gray mountains in the distance. If everything could just be as calm as the scenery in front of her. That wasn't the case though. Life within the citadel was a moving target and Malfoy had made his first move—a warning if anything else.

The offer was ludicrous. He couldn't seriously expect her to agree to it, but then perhaps a really weak person would—someone who couldn't tolerate the uncertainty and pressure of this court. Did Malfoy enjoy this environment? He seemed so attuned to it, like a predator.

With his move made, it was now her turn. She had to do something. The alternative was to sit back and wait for Malfoy, or whoever else, to make the next move. That would put her increasingly in a weak position, and that was what she needed to strengthen—her position. But how? And with who?

Over her dead body would she trust anyone in this place, and that included whoever she aligned herself with. The one thing she could trust was self-interest, and that was what she had to invoke.

Her mind searched over the parties, trying to determine who would make a good partner to approach for an alliance. Obviously not Malfoy. She would basically be handing over the keys to her mansion if she tried to agree to anything with him. His price had already been stipulated-everything.

That the person she approached wouldn't do the same was a risk, but being too scared to move would probably be a worse alternative. Risk had to be taken.

Walking to her desk, she picked up her quill and wrote a note. A pull of the rope hanging down informed the elves she required them. A quiet knock on the door soon followed.

"Please deliver this to Lord Wildsmith," she said and the creature nodded, slinking away. No doubt, they had less than a pleasant time here. She felt sorry for them, but at least they were not in the firing line for this sick game played here.

It was time to get ready for the day's amusement, which was held to the east of the citadel, a race of the finest Abraxans in the liege's stable. It would be outside, so she had to dress warmly against the bitter wind rushing over the plains, ready to cut into anyone who didn't guard against it.

Attending the amusements were compulsory, only the very ill excusing themselves. For the most part, even the ill showed up. Things shifted quickly within court politics and few wanted their absence to weaken their positions. So another day at court had to be suffered by all.

She would bring Tabain for a while, simply to enjoy the spectacle, but then he would return with his maid to stay warm in the apartment. He was dressed warmly when he was led to her, dressed in warm leather coat, his small hands in sheep skin mittens. His eyes were shining with excitement and all morning he'd been mentioning horses.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

"Yeah, yeah," he responded and Hermione took his hand as they left their apartments. Hopefully, she would find someone to follow before she got dreadfully lost.

Her prayer was answered with a familiar blond head in the distance, walking arm in arm with his wife. They were both dressed in black, bulky clothes. Hermione didn't rush to join them, but followed their lead at a distance, which lead through endless spaces—corridors, courtyards, grand staircases, until they reached an entrance way leading to a cobblestone courtyard and rampart, which led down through a stone gate to the valley below the citadel.

The racecourse had been prepared to a huge in scale, towers stretching up along its perimeter. A stand had also been erected for the spectators. A structure for Voldemort had been built in the center, where he could sit and enjoy the races, and well as looking over his court below him.

As Hermione moved closer, she could see that only his most favored was allowed to dwell with him on his platform, and that included the Malfoys, who were being served steaming drinks while they waited for the racing to start.

She found some seats near the barrier amongst the throng of people. It seemed there were more people here than she normally saw at the liege's amusements, so people had come from far and wide for this day. She hadn't realized it would be such a large undertaking.

Tabain stood on his chair and tried to see the horses and couldn't hide his excitement when it started. The horses, with their golden, shimmering coats set off with pounding hooves and straining muscles, fear and excitement flashing in their eyes. It had a sheer brutality to it that made Hermione's heart pound with unease.

Half way around the track, their wings spread and they took off in the air, their sleek and powerful wings pumping through the air as they continued around the course. Tabain loved seeing them fly. "Horses, horses," he said, his eyes intently following them. Their grace was undeniable.

-0-

After two races, Tabain had to return to the apartments for a nap and Hermione kissed him goodbye before turning her mind to the business at hand—the business of being a part of this court—of scheming.

She nodded to Pansy as she walked past, who was wearing black fur from head to toe, the skin of her face white and creamy in contrast. But Hermione was not here to talk to Pansy; she had business to conduct.

Her target stood with a group of men—Lord Alfred Wildsmith. He wore brown dragon hide over his considerable bulk. Sable and gold thread embroidery lined his collar, showing his wealth. From what she'd observed, he was a congenital man in the first instance, but hid a shrewd mind underneath.

"Lady Nott," he said. "I was wondering if I would see you today. I received the note you sent and am curious as to how I can be of assistance."

The others melted away, feeling their dismissal. Wildsmith was rich and powerful enough to dismiss people, except the liege himself. Shrewd investments only made him wealthier, and that was what she was counting on.

"I am honored you are willing to meet with me here," she said.

"The pleasure is all mine. Would you like to hot toddy?"

"That would be very nice." It was a courtesy, but he waited for her proposal. Snapping at a servant, he ordered a drink to be prepared for her. "I came to speak to you about resources I have access to."

"Your lands?" he said with surprise.

"More the forestry assets I have on top of my lands."

His mouth pursed as he considered her. There was no judgement, just calculation. This man knew how the court worked and he knew investments.

"I do understand your late husband made some considerable investment in his forests. They will pay off handsomely when it comes time to harvest." He was curious now.

"I am offering you an option on that resource."

She could see his mind working behind his eyes. "Are you in need of money then?" Raising her eyebrows, she conveyed her disappointment and Wildsmith smiled. "If I take your trees, my dear Lady Nott, I have a vested interest in keeping you on your land. It is an alliance you are proposing, for your protection."

"I suppose you could say it is an alliance I am purchasing, for your economic benefit."

"Forestry assets can be gained elsewhere, of course, but they are a considerable asset. For an alliance, however, you must then sell them at a price that appeals to me."

"I am sure we can reach a fair price in consideration of included benefits."

He watched her for a moment longer. "Fifteen thousand Galleons per acre," he finally said.

Hermione looked unimpressed. "I'm not going to give it away."

"I am the strongest alliance you could find, my dear. None, except our venerable lord, has the resources at my disposal."

"I know your words are true, but I may simply need strong and not the strongest. There are others I could make this proposal to."

He smiled now. "Then what do you suggest?"

"Thirty thousand per acre."

Wildsmith jerked his head dismissively. "My dear Lady Nott, surely you must realize the position you are in here. You're at the center of this court's current focus." It was awful having that suspicion confirmed, but there had been plenty of hints.

"Which means I must trade these trees with someone. I will keep your offer in mind," she said, preparing to walk away. What she'd said was a lie. She was fairly certain she was not in a position to make a less powerful alliance, but it would not serve her for Wildsmith to see her as weak and inconsequential either. Walking away was a risk she had to take, but she was depending on his greed. One did not become so rich as him without a fair deal of it.

"Twenty three is my final offer," he said.

"Twenty five."

He snorted. "You can certainly get twenty five elsewhere, but will you get someone who is strong enough to protect your land? This investment comes at considerable risk to whomever takes it on. If someone takes your land off you, they are hardly going to honor this agreement."

"True, it does require an alliance strong enough, and the party will be considerably rewarded for it. Do not all investments have risk, my lord? I understand that is how the risk/reward principle works. Besides, I think there are some who would agree just to deny you," she said. "And they will make sport of you for the next decade."

Now he laughed, an unguarded guttural laugh. "If anyone says you are not well suited for this game, Lady Nott, they are very much mistaken. You have your alliance."

"Thank you, Lord Wildsmith. It is one what will suit us both, I anticipate."

"Well, don't play fast and loose with my trees."

"I will do my very best to keep them intact for you."

"See that you do."

In truth, Wildsmith's cloud with do much of that job for her. Not even Malfoy could take on Wildsmith in a head on fight—economically speaking. Only the interference of the liege himself would tear everything down, and that was always a possibility, but she was stronger now than she had been that morning. And that was the first bit of good news she'd had since she'd arrived.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The liege's second favorite great hall was filling with people fast. It was a typical evening with the court gathering, a dinner to follow. The cavernous space was filled with the murmur of people plotting and scheming.

Voldemort had taken his seat and was currently providing an audience to the people he'd agreed to hear. It was mostly dry and personal grievances, so few actually listened unless something important was being discussed, or if one in their midst was being reprimanded. The sound of a pin dropping would echo off the silk clad walls in that case. Voldemort did, however, insist they serve as an audience, even for the driest of pleading, with their large eyes, sorrowful looks and emphatic beseeching. The liege seemed to revel in it and attendance was mandatory.

Hermione had dressed in an emerald green gown, a new one she'd ordered. She hated them, the gowns with their satin and lace, and other pointless finery, but it was expected. The parade was important, even if she determined it to be vacant. Wealth had to be shown—proved on the surface, because that was part of the game.

The underlying truth was that superficial wealth didn't overrule true wealth, but appearances meant something. Still, power was a multi-faceted creature, and Hermione felt she didn't have a good take on it yet.

Holding a glass of Champagne, Hermione walked the length of the hall and note the people present and who was talking to whom. Like her, everyone here was watching for where their next attack would come from.

"Cunning move," someone said close to her ear and she turned to see Malfoy looking down at her. Straight back and head held high, he considered her. As usual, he was dressed in black, an exquisitely tailored set of robes.

He must have found out about her alliance with Wildsmith. She could pretend she didn't know what he was talking about, but what was the point? "Just a little business transaction."

"Do you think yourself protected?" the question asked in his crisp drawl made her doubt herself. She hated that he could so easily do that to her. "Let's not insult each other's intelligence by pretending this was a business transaction. Through it, you have managed to insulate yourself. I wonder what it cost you to achieve that. It will hurt you in the long run." That was true as she wasn't going to get the full profit from her forestry assets, but lower profits were better than losing one's land. "You have of course aligned your fortunes with the Wildsmith family."

In no way did she think herself protected, but for now she was protected from Malfoy and anyone who sought to strong arm her land away from her. "Lord Wildsmith naturally will seek to assure his trees are there when it comes time to harvest."

"Provided no one fells him," Draco said sharply.

"Do you think anyone is strong enough to?" From her own assessment, the answer was no, which was why she'd picked this course of action. But he knew this court and its machinations much better than here. For all intents and purposes, she was a novice at this, and that had her worried. Would she be able to tell before too late if she put a foot wrong.

He considered her for a minute, his face impassive. "Things change quickly here. Men fall out of favor—women, too. We are all subject to the whims of the liege." Malfoy said that as if he knew something she didn't and she hated the doubts he generated in her, as was probably his purpose in speaking to her.

The memory of seeing the Malfoy's in the liege's personal platform at the races the  
other day returned to her. Was he making a threat? Did he have something planned? The liege was the wild card she could not control, but could Lady Malfoy, who was apparently one of his favorites? "Your wife seems to be settling into court life."

"She does tend to thrive here."

Hermione didn't know the story of why she was sent away, but a darkness had clouded over Malfoy's eyes as he sought out the turned back of his wife, speaking to a group not far away. She wore a red dress, silk with black trip. It had a sheen to it whenever she moved.

"Not everyone does," he said, returning his attention to Hermione. Was he referring to her? Perhaps he had surmised that she wanted to be anywhere else but here. Or was he referring to someone else? "In fact, this place grates on some. The lonely halls and challenging disposition. It's not for everyone."

"Luckily, having a good alliance helps immensely."

"Take care to ensure nothing happens to it."

"I will try my absolute best."

He watched her for a moment as if he was still making up his mind about her.

"Lady Nott," Astoria's saccharine voice said and Hermione turned to see both Astoria and Pansy, walking arm in arm as if they were strolling through a field of flowers.

"Don't you look stunning tonight? New gown?" Pansy asked. "I don't think I've seen you in that before."

"No, just arrived from the estate along with some of my other things," Hermione lied, but she wasn't entirely sure why. There had just appeared to be some sort of weakness in admitting she knew she needed to try harder to keep up with the fashions at court. Any kind of stress seemed to be attributed to weakness, but she wasn't happy about lying. "No, maybe you're right. This might be one of the new ones," she said, looking down as if trying to determine.

"I thought I saw that material presented by one of the dressmakers the other day," Pansy said.

"Could be the very one," Hermione admitted. That lie that had just slipped in disturbed her. Perhaps the urge was so strong because she knew they were trying to find things to use against her.

"We always need good armor, don't we?" Astoria said conspiratorially. "It always makes me happy to have a gorgeous new gown. Makes you feel it's more bearable when things go against you."

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"Those pesky rumors that are spreading about your son. So thoughtless." The sympathy in her voice wasn't exactly sincere, and her eyes were searching for distress in Hermione's features.

With a lazy wave of her hand, Hermione dismissed it. "What is there to worry about with such rumors?"

"And if people start believing them? Things wouldn't go so well for you," Pansy said, giving Astoria a meaningful look.

"What is there to worry about when such things can easily be proven by a simple spell," Hermione said with a smile.

Astoria didn't react for a moment, just stared at her.

"Surely paternity isn't a new concept?" Hermione continued. "It can easily be settle with a bit of magic."

"And you know this magic?"

"I understand some of the court magicians do. If it ever needs to be proven, it is a simple matter." Hermione smiled. Actually, according to Mr. Lovegood, it wasn't a simple spell, but these two vipers in front of her didn't need to do that.

"Isn't that lucky," Pansy said, now looking awkward. "I think I must see if there are some refreshments." She floated away.

Astoria didn't look quite as happy to give up on the assault and now surveyed her with more intensity than her husband had. "Not sure that's true." She really wasn't giving up, probably suspecting Hermione was bluffing.

Hermione shrugged. "I guess if it ever comes down to it, I will just have to prove you wrong." She'd just skirted attributing blame for the rumor, which was a bit of a pot shot of her own. Stirring trouble was fine, but stirring trouble and it being utterly apparent was not—especially if she was then proven wrong.

The grudging retreat was apparent in Astoria's eyes, as was now hatred. The downside of standing up to bullies was that they didn't take it well, but there was no putting one's head in the sand here and hoping people like Astoria would go away. Draco had basically stated that she thrived in this environment. There would definitely be other shots coming from this woman.

Hermione had through Pansy was someone she had to worry about, but now she was wondering if Astoria was a bigger predator. Making some excuse, Astoria walked away.

"Nicely deflected," Draco said, a look of amusement now on his features.

"Why, thank you, Lord Malfoy." With a nod, she took her leave, taking a deep breath and exhaled as she tried to find somewhere safe to place herself while she waited for the blasted dinner to start. She'd just survived an ambush, but she had made an enemy and she wasn't happy about it. If she could have managed it better, she didn't know, but she couldn't afford to make enemies left, right and center.

Perhaps it was time to start making friends in this forsaken place, if there was such a thing. Draco Malfoy would certainly not be it. While his wife sought to discredit her in the eyes of this court, with as much maliciousness at possible, Draco Malfoy sought to destroy her, and he would do it with much more elegance and probably a sympathetic smile on his face—however false. Nothing personal, she just stood in the way of what he wanted. She wasn't sure which one was worse, but if there was one family where she knew where they stood, it was the Malfoys. The rest of them, with their smiling deference, didn't have the curtesy to stab her in the front. 


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

For quite a while, everything seemed calm. There were the usual underhanded and snide remarks every now and then, but no direct, perceived threats. She wasn't getting terribly far with the gathering friends objective. This wasn't a place for friends, apparently. In a way, she was starting to feel more settled. The frantic searching for the next threat was abating a little, leaving behind a new sense of loneliness. Tabain took up much of her days, but as adorable as he was, he didn't provide the most riveting conversation and Hermione felt as if her mind was atrophying.

They walked in the gardens almost every day, except in the wettest of weather. The days were growing shorter and the nights longer. Almost every night, they had to gather for some reason or another—usually in all their finery, for whatever amusement Voldemort wanted.

The fresh air of the garden did revive her, as it always did, although she was now aware that the Malfoys could observe them, which made this little garden less of a respite than it had been. She had thought of finding another one, but feared leaving the halls and corridors she actually knew.

"Come, Tabain. We must return for lunch."

All around her, people were meeting and gossiping during the day, and she was fairly left out of it. Other than the odd proposal, no one met with her. Her eagerness to become part of this scene and to hold her own tended to fade away when she had a choice—especially now that her position was more secure. She was much happier on her own, than having to dress and meet with any of these awful people unless she absolutely had to.

Returning to their apartments, Hermione undressed and their serving elf presented her with a note. Someone wanted to see her. No doubt it would be another inane proposal of marriage. But it wasn't. It was infinitely worse.

 _Your late husband left some books here if you wish to collect them._

 _Your Servant, DM_

She didn't know what to make of the note. Why would Theo leave books with Draco Malfoy? Was this a ploy of some kind, but she couldn't see a purpose for them. What books? Were they necessary? Why couldn't he be more specific?

For a moment, she wondered if she could ignore this. She really didn't want to go collect anything from Malfoy. Saying that, she would otherwise never neglect to collect his things. Draco Malfoy made her uncomfortable enough that she considered foregoing these books, which was madness and maybe a little cowardly.

They ate lunch and Hermione was considering when to go in search of the Malfoy apartments, but Tabain was fussy and refused to nap properly. In the end, it didn't happen. In fact, she'd been putting it off. Then it was time to get dressed and join the evening's festivities.

They were dining that night, one of Voldemort's more simple affairs—at least superficially. Nothing was simple with Voldemort, she was learning.

Hermione entered the reception room, which had been well lit with sparkling candles in every direction. She wore one of her satin gowns, which was passable for one of the less spectacular diversions. The fashion parade continued.

"Claim them or I'll throw them out. They are cluttering my space," Malfoy said behind her. Hermione whipped around to see him. He wore his typical black robes, his blond hair shining in the light of the space.

"That's a bit unnecessary, isn't it?"

He shrugged, looking bored. "I am an impatient man."

"Fine, I will pick them up. Sweet fates forbid they were an imposition on you." Although he had never mentioned them before. Why the hurry all of a sudden?

"After dinner," he said and stepped away. His back was stiff when he walked. It must hurt to look down so much—on others.

With a sigh, she cleared away any residual negativity from their brief encounter. She would go; she would pick up these dratted books and she would say goodnight. Simple.

Still, the evening's obligations sat in her mind throughout dinner, making time, at the same time, seem ludicrously slow and passing too quickly.

-0-

It was quite late when she knocked on what she thought was the Malfoy's main door. It had to be it as it was the largest and most opulent she could see. The corridor was darkly lit and the door itself was lacquered black with silver embellishments. It took some time before it opened, and it was Draco Malfoy himself who did.

"They're in my study," he said and stepped aside. He was dressed more informally, his black jacket removed, leaving a white shirt. "They're in the study."

His apartments were very different from her own. Black was again a predominant theme, as was heavy lacquer and a checkered marble floor. It was one of the most elegant apartments she'd ever seen. Cold and austere, through, but she expected that suited him.

He walked through the large entrance hall into a door on the far side, which was in a way more homely. Rich mahogany and red, carpets. A desk stood along one of the walls and a full-wall bookcase behind it. He spared no expense on the furniture. "Drink?" he said.

"No, I had better go."

"Impatient to get away," he said with a smile. Was he picking up on how nervous he made her?

"Where is your wife?" she asked as a way to change the subject.

"No doubt off with one of her paramours," he said, sitting down heavily in one of the chairs. His typical formality seemed to have been put to side here.

"Oh," she said with surprise, not knowing how to respond to that. He obviously knew about it, and even didn't mind. Again, the state of their relationship was on display.

"Does that shock you?"

"No," she lied.

"More common like dust around here. Everyone dabbles in beds they don't belong," he said in his laziest drawl. "Quite the thing. Does the prudish Lady Nott not approve?"

"Not my thing, really."

"Did you think Theo was always loyal to you?"

The question was aggressive any way it was cut. She really didn't come here for him to throw aspersions on her marriage, or worse. "He was," she stated.

Draco looked at her and took a sip of some dark liquid in a heavy glass, then stroked his finger along his temple. "You are so sure of him," he said. She noted he didn't contradict her.

"Yes."

Still holding his glass, he pointed to a pile of tomes on the desk. They must be the books he was referring to. For a moment, she'd wondered if there were any books at all. They looked old, ancient even. _Dangers of Magical Realms_ , one said along the spine. _History of the Darkest Age_ , said another. Clearly uplifting reading.

"Thank you," she said. "I hadn't been aware that you and my husband were acquainted."

"Everyone here is acquainted."

"In such a studious way?"

He watched her as if he was trying to determine what he was inferring. "We had some common interests."

His eyes on her made her nervous.

"I should go," she said.

"What's the rush? So eager to be in your own company, or is it me you seek to get away from?"

Very much the latter, but it would appear spineless to say so.

"So how many proposals have you had now? Eight, nine?"

"Do you keep tabs on me?"

"Just guessing. Is my offer starting to look good yet?"

"To hand over everything I have? Hmm, still struggling to see the attraction."

"I could seduce you."

Abruptly, she looked over at him, but his face didn't indicate whether he was serious or not. "I'm fairly sure you couldn't."

"Don't underestimate me. If the empty bed and cold nights aren't starting to grate yet, they will soon. It's quite a long time now since you've had any company in it. Particularly if a new marital bed isn't going to be on the cards."

As if anyone who approached her remotely appealed, she thought with a mental snort.

Leaning back, Malfoy crossed his legs at the ankle.

"Do you really think so highly of yourself that a woman would hand over her family wealth for the privilege?" she said disbelievingly.

"You'll never know unless you try."

Was he toying with her? Surely in some way he was. Still, the mental images that tried to sneak into her mind made her blush. It seemed too outlandish to even consider the two of them entwined. "You're married, Lord Malfoy."

"Not in the way you were. Quite the curiosity, a woman who stirs complete loyalty."

So Theo had been loyal. She felt awful that the doubts had threatened, even for a moment. Was Malfoy curious about loyalty? Perhaps to someone in his position, it seemed a strange notion.

A sound informed her that he'd risen from the chair and was walking over to her. Nervousness flared in her gut, but she refused to step back as she wanted to. He stood close, but didn't touch. Slowly, he pushed the books over to her. "Let me know if you change your mind. Loyalty goes both ways, you know. Some tend to crave it, particularly in such a precarious environment."

 _How would you know?_ she wanted to say. He was saying he would be loyal. The idea was strange, but perhaps in some way, he knew what would appeal to her. Then again, she didn't think she could trust him to be. He was too consummate a player to bother about things like loyalty, especially if it at any point didn't serve him. "I won't change my mind."

His eyes sparkled as if he was amused. "Shame."

With a dry throat and holding her head high, she bundled the books into her arms. "Thank you." She felt funny saying it as if she was thanking him for propositioning her. He certainly did it in a different way than others, but then he was married, however unhappily. If he wasn't, would he be one in the queue waiting to propose to her. No, Draco Malfoy waited in no queues. No doubt he would manipulate her to the alter if he had the choice, or maybe he thought he could still steal her land from under her feet without bothering, or simply by having with her under him. Embarrassment flared up her cheeks as she turned to leave. Hopefully, it would be an objective he would give up on.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Hermione couldn't help chuckling at Malfoy's ludicrous proposition. Although she could lie to herself and say it was ludicrous, but there was the tiniest temptation there. Not him exactly, because he was too much… too fraught. She could never trust someone like him. But just the thought of not be alone, for once, or simply physical intimacy. There was no point craving her husband any more. He was not coming back and that craving would never be fulfilled. She was accustomed to going long stretches without him, but had never got used to it.

The problem was that relationships at court were much too complicated for a relationship. There was too much at stake and she would forever fear the reasons behind someone's actions. She could not conduct a relationship like that—not trusting and forever questioning the other person's intentions.

The thought of Malfoy snuck into her head, and intimate scene, but would she fear a knife being withdrawn from underneath the pillow. A fission of discomfort worked its way down her spine as she walked to the white hall, where the liege was holding audience tonight.

A slow night reading by the fire was what she wanted, but if she were honest, she didn't want a slow night reading on her own. She missed having a partner, someone to confide in—someone to just sit with. The thought that she might never have that again was terrifying. But around here, she saw it as an impossibility. There wasn't a single person she felt comfortable turning her back on, or letting her guard down. It seemed to be the thing that were people's undoing.

The hall was bright, the mirrors adding to the brightness from the endless candles around the walls and in the chandeliers. Voldemort was sitting on his throne, surveying his court with a smug look on his face. This was his audience, in his city and they were all his courtiers.

Immediately, her eyes searched out Malfoy's dark form. Instinctively, she seemed to feel where he was and she soon found him conferring with a group of men. He raised his glass to her, a slight smile tugging on the corner of his lips. He knew full well he unnerved her, which was probably his intention. She refused to play along.

Turning her attention away, she sought somewhere to place herself. Some back were firmly turned to her, but not perhaps as many as when she'd first arrived.

A man she knew as Harlston nodded to her and she grabbed a glass of Champagne off a passing tray. "The liege seems in a good mood tonight," she said. "I'm not sure I have introduced myself." She knew full well some felt it was uncouth to be so direct and introduce oneself, feeling a person had to be introduced by a common acquaintance, but no one seemed to want to perform that function for her—at least without recompense of some kind. "I am Lady Nott."

"We must be grateful for that," the man said. "Lord Harlston. I knew your husband."

"It seems we have something in common, then," she said with a smile.

The man considered her, not seemingly impressed with her jest. "I hope you are settling well here."

"I am learning to find my way around."

"It is a credit to you that you have managed to find your feet."

Hermione wasn't entirely sure what he was saying, but got the feeling there was something unpleasant underneath. "One does what one must."

"Still, it is unusual to see persons of your ilk here."

"My ilk?" She got the feeling he wasn't speaking of her gender. She had found that persons with prejudices felt the need to state them, and this man was just about to.

"Someone from the lower orders," he said, his voice almost sugary, filled with condescending pity. "I find they tend to prefer _other_ company." He made it sound as if the persons of the 'lower order' preferred to find other company, when they were effectively, but not explicitly excluded. But yes, it was also true, people who weren't naturally part of Voldemort's determination of ideal heritage did tend not to seek the company of this court. Voldemort's disregard for their lives and liberty was well known and more pronounced.

But this man was also setting a trap for her, pushing her to admit she didn't want to be here, that like everyone else—almost everyone else—she was here because she had to be. "I have found the court charming," she said as if she had no clue what he was talking about. It did break her policy of not lying, but with a person such as this, she felt she had to. This was definitely an enemy she had stumbled across, someone deliberately laying a trap. Most here were prejudiced against her kind, but this Lord Harlston had gone out of his way to ensure she knew, as if he was picking a fight.

She smiled. "So far, I have found my time here to be very fortuitous."

"I heard of your dealings with Lord Wildsmith," he said. "Inspired."

Hermione actually enjoyed making this man compliment someone 'of the lower orders'. "Thank you. Kind of you to say."

The hardness in his eyes showed he was still wanting to tell her what he thought of her kind, waiting for something to pounce on. Part of her wanted to shut this down and move on as fast as possible, but she didn't want to give him the impression that anything he said bothered her—because it didn't, really. She knew most people here were prejudiced to some degree, so she was hardly shocked.

"And where does your family have their estates?" she asked.

"To the North of here. We have been there since the very beginning." He was telling her his family was tight with Voldemort. Still, he had never stood out as one of the powerhouses in this court. Perhaps why he was so adamant in his prejudices. Such bitterness could only be born out of beliefs his family had not received what they were due. Most likely, her estates were larger.

Obviously, she had the option to rub that in, which was probably how many in this court would act. "I haven't traveled north, but I hear it is beautiful."

The man raised his eyebrow in surprise, but he didn't say anything, refusing to be congenial. So, he wasn't giving up. Now it really was time to move on. "I hope it will be a pleasant evening. It was a pleasure to meet you," she lied. "I think I will see what nibbles we are honored with tonight."

Another person she was inordinately happy to walk away from. There was no reason to engage with him again. She wasn't surprised, but she had uncovered one of the people who resolutely felt she didn't belong here, in their midst. Yes, well, she understood well enough that the true game of this place was beyond petty racism. That wouldn't meet the bar.

Walking slowly, Hermione observed the evening activities and who was talking to who. Relationships were crucial in this place, and no one who had observed her speak to Harlston would think they were creating one. Chalk and cheese, in every way. Well, someone like Malfoy would understand that, even if not privy to what was said. Harlston, on the other hand, would assume everyone looked down on her for the reasons he did, and probably underestimate the game because of it. Strong believes were dangerous because they blinded.

There was a murmur. Something was occurring and Hermione didn't know what. It always made her uncomfortable when something was happening.

The large door were opened and a finely dressed pair was introduced as Lord Grayland and Lady Emily. The man walked proudly up the center of the hall, with what must be his daughter on his arm. He had reason to be proud, the girl was beautiful, although blushing at all the attention on her. Her youth was obvious and she was being presented at court. Her dress was one of the finest Hermione had ever seen, sewn with pearls and iridescent silk. A small fortune had gone into that gown.

Letting go of her father's arm, she curtseyed gracefully, her blond ringlets moving slightly as he bowed her head.

"This must be your daughter, Lord Grayland. What a pleasure this is," Voldemort said in his raspy voice.

Hermione remembered the anxiety of her own presentation. But this girl was more excited than Hermione had been. Her eyes sparkled with it. A girl like that had been raised for this purpose—to be presented at court, and then used to form an alliance with a powerful family.

"Stunning creature," Voldemort said, seeming delighted. "Welcome to the court, my dear. It is our pleasure to welcome you. In your honor, we must throw a masquerade," he said and waited for the applause.

They all complied, a murmur of excitement spread through the room. A masquerade. Hermione didn't know that that entailed, and unknown things were a cause for concern. How bad could it be? It was obviously a ball of some kind, involving masks. She didn't have one and would have to find someone who could create one for her. Yet another thing life at court would require. Perhaps there was one in the closet somewhere. Theo would have had one, if masquerades were a common occurrence, but then they were usually gender specific if her estimation was correct.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

The masquerade was set for a couple of days later and Hermione had found no masks in the apartment. Eventually she had to call one of the elves, who, as it happened, came carrying a red box.

"Your mask, my lady," the creature said, placing the box down on the settee. "A gift from the dark lord." It bowed deeply before stepping back.

Hermione was taken aback, uncomfortable receiving gifts from him. What did this mean? Thought raced through her mind. Was she singled out to receive a gift? That couldn't be good. The liege's attention was never good as far as she saw. "Oh, I see. That is very generous," she said with an uncertain smile.

"He creates the masks himself," the elf said proudly. In the box must be her mask.

The words sent a chill down her spine, because it suggested there was some magics attached to it. "It is charmed?"

"It is charmed to ensure you identity is not revealed."

"I see," she said. That made sense, but it still made her nervous. In truth, she didn't trust Voldemort near her, let alone to perform magics on her, but perhaps she was letting her fears run away with her. A masquerade was supposed hide identities, so magical means of achieving that was perhaps reasonable.

The very concept of going to a ball and not knowing who she was dancing with was unnerving, but that was the purpose. She could be dancing with the most racist people in the court, and she would have no idea. Then again, they would not know they were dealing to her, either. There was actually something satisfying about that.

Opening the box, she saw the mask inside, red satin trimmed with gold and feathers. It was very beautiful, the eyeholes lined in black, exaggerated cat's eyes. Reaching down to pick it up, she could feel magic humming off it as soon as he fingers were near. She didn't dare touch it.

When the masquerade ball had been announced, most in the hall had seemed excited, but there had also been some faces who didn't look very enthusiastic and she didn't know what to make of that. In a place like this, not knowing who you were talking to could be a dangerous thing, she supposed, or perhaps seen as a waste of time.

There was nothing for it. It had to be done, and she might actually enjoy the evening, not worrying about what people were whispering behind her back. The red gown in her closet would be perfect, matching well with the mask. She hadn't worn it yet.

-0-

Hermione left her apartments and walked toward the ballroom where the masquerade was. It was the mirrored one so the gathered crowd looked much larger than it was. It was a disconcerting effect with the mirrors on both sides of the hall, going on endlessly.

People milled around, dressed like jewels. Each mask was different, but all elaborately decorated, with gold, jewels and feathers. She'd felt the magic in it as she'd taken a deep breath and put it on, but it did nothing further that she could tell. The people behind the masks were truly indecipherable.

This was not one of Voldemort's many throne rooms, so he wasn't sitting above them for once. Still, she assumed his mask would be extraordinarily elaborate to set him apart, but she hadn't seen him yet.

Milling past people, she didn't quite know what to do with herself. It was impossible to tell who was who. The masked seemed to transform people, leaving the exposed parts of their heads and faces a little blurry. There was something highly disconcerting about it, but also exciting. For a night, she could be anyone, not the mudblood widow who some regarded as too lowly to be in their company.

Walking to the drinks bar, she accepted a glass of some pink concoction. It tasted both sweet and bitter, and she decided she liked it. Perhaps she should dance with someone.

"Looking wistfully at the dancefloor," a voice said. There was something familiar about the voice, but also not. "Lady Nott."

Disappointment coursed through her, having just thought how exciting it was that no one knew who she was, but apparently this person did, and she couldn't say the same. His mask was dark, with white checkers. Clear eyes showed from inside the mask, but as soon as she tried to identify them, the thought fleeted out of her head. That must be part of the magic.

"I thought we weren't supposed to know each other," she said. "The magics on these seems very good at hiding identities."

"They are. I saw you coming out of your apartments."

There was only one person who had cause to be down that way. "Lord Malfoy." He smiled, but his features shifted under her bespelled gaze, refusing to still into recognition. "You look nothing like yourself."

He stepped closer to her. "That's the point. This is a night for doing as you wish, for not being yourself and for releasing all the pressures of being here."

"Is it? Sounds irresponsible."

"Absolutely. No one knows the others. It is a night for simply being oneself, without any consequences."

"So any behavior goes tonight?"

"I see you're finally understanding the point, and these masks cannot be removed until dawn."

"Then it is a shame that you saw me when you shouldn't have."

"Your secrets are safe with me."

"Somehow I doubt that."

He smiled gain. "Do you not trust me, Lady Nott?"

"Do you trust me?"

"Tonight is not a night for trust. It is a night for uninhibited exploration, the absence of everything except the things we wish to do when no one can hold us to account. A time to put responsibility, even sorrow, to side for a short while."

"Even commitment?"

"Especially commitment. Although my wife does not have trouble with that at the best of times."

She could understand now why some had not welcomed this masquerade ball with relish, especially those who did not trust their nearest and dearest when there was no account for their choices.

"But now that someone knows my identity, I can hardly do whatever I please when you can spot me in the crowd."

"Then I will apologize if you feel the weight of that knowledge. Then how about I free you from any ramifications for the things you do tonight. My lips are forever sealed."

"I'm not sure what you think I will engage in."

"All those things you want to but can't. No doubt you will be propositioned. You look stunning. It is hard not to notice you."

Hermione blushed under her mask. The thought of having a liaison with a stranger was on some level very exciting, the ability to let go of all the tension, the expectations, and even her loneliness. But that was not an option now that she know Malfoy would watch her every move. Irrespective of what he said, she would have to behave. "I will have to see what mischief I can find, then." She looked around and wondered where she should explore.

"In that case, you are most welcome to stay." His voice was almost like a purr and her eyes snapped back to him. Was he propositioning her? It could well be as he had effectively done so before.

"Still thinking you would dazzle me to the point where I would hand over my son's inheritance to you?"

A grin spread over his lips. "As I said, tonight is a night of no consequences. It is decreed."

"A decree must be adhered to, but I might forego the allure you apparently exert on the unwary."

"That would be a shame. I would enjoy a night of getting to know you better—away from the gossips and politics."

"But could that be as we both know who we are?"

"Oh, yes. I think you will find me quite personable."

"I'm not sure personable is the way I would describe you, Lord Malfoy." She went to drift away.

"Like a said, it is a night for not being oneself. But there is also something very appealing about knowing who you're dealing with, particularly as our esteemed liege is currently roaming the crowd, looking for his next conquest. He did, after all, create the masks and therefore know who everyone is. Voldemort in a playful mood is not a trap I would encourage being caught in," he warned. "I offer you my protection."

Hermione bit her lips together. Malfoys words were like cold water being poured on her, sending shiver down her spine. Being approached by Voldemort in disguise was something as unpleasant as she could image, particularly as he knew exactly who he was talking to. Apparently the dark lord like such games and this was a way for him to disguise what he wanted to do, she realized. Sitting up there on the throne, looking down on them night after night. Why know what went through his twisted mind and this was his opportunity to play.

With that, Hermione returned to Malfoy's side. He offered his arm to her and she reluctantly took it. Was she jumping from the pot into the fire? But then it was perhaps crucial to know who she was dealing with.

"Wise choice. Shall we dance? As I recall we have once before."

He led her out onto the dancefloor, turning her into his arms. His hand felt warm and strong on the small of her back. Was this a wise choice, she wondered. Perhaps not, but she knew instinctively that it beat being at risk of being Voldemort's toy for the evening.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

The people around them were behaving differently. There was a level of inhibition Hermione hadn't seen before. There was drunkenness and even lecherous behavior. The court was certainly entertaining itself, and Hermione was happy she wasn't subjected to the groping of unknown hands.

While initially interesting, it wasn't fun to watch, so when Malfoy suggested taking some air in one of the courtyards near the hall, she agreed.

The air was crisp outside, the stars showing in a clear sky. The quiet was stark in comparison to the droning sound of a ballroom full of people, some of which were getting quite drunk. Away from that, she felt more comfortable about accepting the glass of Champagne that Malfoy was offering her.

They sat down on a wall overlooking part off the citadel, the endless gabled roofs, turrets and even ramparts. Was the dark lord expecting to hold off an invading army? There was no one left to fight. He had effectively made all those who oppose him too weak to be a threat.

She dismissed the dark thoughts of all the things that had gone on before. "Does he hold these balls often?"

"Not often, but once in a while. People have learned to appreciate them as an opportunity to escape the tension of regular court life, a time to act out and escape responsibility."

"Do you?" she asked.

"Do I what?"

"Use this as a time to act out and escape responsibility?"

"I suppose I see it as a time that has no purpose."

"Does everything you do have purpose?"

"Yes," he said, taking a sip from his Champagne glass. "That is what life here at court is about. It is a game that is constantly played."

"And what is the game at the moment?"

"Like I said, tonight has no game. That is the point."

"You could be having an affair, like everyone else."

He smiled; she could see it under his mask. "On the occasion I've had affairs, there has always been purpose, so if there is no purpose, I do nothing."

"Is that what we're doing, nothing?"

"Exactly."

"Is your wife the same?"

Draco snorted. "My wife," he said as if the word was distasteful, "does whatever pleases her, even if it is wholly destructive to herself and the family."

That must be difficult for him, for whom everything he did had a purpose, having a wife that was a loose cannon. "You paint her as being quite immature." Hermione would guess so from the games she played.

"She is not one of this world's old souls."

"I suppose I would ask why you married her, but I assume you had a good reason."

"Looking back, it was a mistake, but we cannot always foresee such things. Now I have to work to manage her destructive streak and impetuous behavior."

A bird of prey screeched somewhere in the night sky. For a moment, she wished she was free to fly like that—or just free. "Will we ever get to leave here?" It felt like they were on an endless thread mill of court life, gossip and intrigue.

"No," Draco said, "we don't, which is why these nights are important, I guess." Crossing his arms, he looked out over the view. "Theo marrying you caused quite a stir at court," he said.

"I didn't know that. Was it such a shock?"

"Marriage is one of the biggest hands to play. Around here, it is an alliance that trumps all others and needs to bring great rewards. Hence my marriage to Astoria. It did enhance the family's position. I didn't foresee it being a barren one. But Theo threw it all away and married for love. You must understand that is unheard of. Most thought he had lost his mind, or was too weak of mind to capitalize on an alliance. Most still think so, and cannot understand the creature you are, to have called a man away from his duties—and to what some say subsequent doom."

Hermione felt goosebumps travel up her arms. "Do you think his death had anything to do with me?"

"If that was the case, no one had profited from it—except you."

Shock made her open her mouth. "For what purpose would I kill my husband?"

"A dangerous question around here," he said with a smile. "But no, I don't think you ever would. But someone wanted his death. You never know about such things. There are always currents beneath everything. He is not the first to have died as part of court politics. He didn't die at the liege's hands, through."

"Do you know who killed him?"

"No," Draco said.

Disappointment flared in Hermione, but she also conceded that maybe she was better off not knowing. How would it be if she knew who had done it and could do nothing about it? Voldemort wasn't exactly known for meting out justice. But then this person could still pose a threat to her and Tabain. She had to root them out.

"I never understood why he married you," Draco continued. "It was such a self-undermining move. Shocking, in fact."

She had never thought of her marriage to Theo as something that undermined him. Yes, she had no lands, no influence, but they'd had a good marriage. "We were happy."

Draco turned to her. "Obviously, I cannot presume to understand."

"Is happiness such a foreign concept?"

"It is not a state which has any relevance."

"Then maybe you are selling yourself short."

He smiled again. "You reckon happiness is worth such sacrifice?"

"You reckon power is worth such sacrifice?"

"Touché. But love did not keep Theo safe. I am sure his family warned him against such a move, but he still did it." He was looking at her now, as if trying to figure out the hold she'd had on him. "I cannot deny that over the years, you have been a bit of a curiosity."

"A siren leading men to their doom?" she laughed. Her thoughts grew serious. "I don't regret anything, even if in the end I lost him. I think he feels the same way."

Draco was still staring at her through the mask that covered her face. "How much loss would bring you to regret it?" It was a strange question and she didn't know how to answer.

"I don't know if there is an amount. I loved him and there is no amount of loss that would make me regret it."

"But now you are alone, here, with more people who want to hurt you than not."

"I have to protect my son."

Draco inhaled and slowly exhaled. "Duty is love, was how I was raised. Still, I have always been wary of you, the woman who made Theo turn away from duty. But he never brought you, saw you as too precious to risk exposing to us."

"When he came home, there was nothing of this," she said, indicating to the citadel at large. "It didn't exist. We had a very different life."

"Do you love him still?"

"Of course." She looked down into her lap, fighting the tears that were forming. "But I am losing him every day now; he is fading. When he passed away, it was like a felt him there around me. I always listened for him to come through the door. I think the mind heals the loss after a while, even if you don't want it to. I cannot recall him so readily as I used to, the sound of his voice, the feel of his touch. These things are fleeting away and there's nothing I can do about it. Some days, I would rather have the grief back, where I screamed and raged. Healing has its own cruelty."

"Will you marry again?"

"I don't think so, if I can get away without. It would be a very poor substitute. I don't even know if I wish to love someone the way I did Theo. I don't regret it for a moment, but it was all-consuming. I think my love will always belong to him."

"I will never know loss like you have, or love."

"It doesn't have to be that way."

"I don't think I could ever stop playing the game. Perhaps I don't have the courage Theo did. I didn't used to see it that way."

"I suppose there is no chance of tenderness developing between you and Astoria?"

He chuckled. "I think neither of us understand the concept."

"So will you still seek to seduce me, then, now that you have more or less told me you do nothing without a reason and you are more or less incapable of love?"

"I have also forewarned you, haven't I? If you succumb now, it is your fault. That might actually make it more tempting, don't you think? I wonder if you are tempted by self-destruction more than anything. Amazingly, people sometimes are. From what you have told me, you have the propensity."

She couldn't help but to laugh. "You are completely misunderstanding everything I just told you. Besides, I can promise you that I will never fall in love with you."

"I suspect I am grateful. It sound like a dangerous proposition," he said.

"You're making it sound like I am propositioning you."

"Mine would be more fun."

"Do you really think I would hand over my lands to you?"

"No," he finally said after a while. "The more I get to know you, the more I doubt you ever would. Not unless I could make you love me like you did your husband, and I stand a poor chance of that."

In a way the statement broke her heart, because he was basically saying she could never love him. Either he was unlovable or he didn't deserve love—probably both. Unfortunately, it was true, she would never love him, but she was also glad they had reached an understanding.

"Do you want to go back inside?" he asked.

"Not really."


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

"Will these masks truly not come off until dawn?" Hermione asked.

"No. Voldemort's insistence."

"I suppose there is no point sleeping."

"It is not a night meant for sleep."

Silence stretched between them and it felt comfortable, which made Hermione feel uncomfortable. It was probably not a good idea to be at ease around Draco Malfoy. There was absolutely no doubt he was a political predator, and being comfortable in his presence was a danger sign. She hopped off the ledge they were sitting on. "I might stretch my legs."

Silently, he followed suit. Hermione wasn't entirely sure where she was going, but he seemed to follow, and she could only be grateful. Running into anyone at the moment was a risk. This night was an opportunity for debauched behavior, but that anonymity also indemnified people from worse behavior, if they wished, and that was not an assumption she wanted to test.

Draco had made no attempts to coerce or force her, so he was still the safest companion she had—also safer than being alone. In a way, she wanted to offer for him to go back, but she would be at risk if he left. "Thank you for spending the evening with me," she said. "I appreciate the… sanctuary."

"You know there is something about you that shows that is what you seek," he said.

Hermione tried to think through what he was saying. "Escape might be a more accurate description."

"You have to admit the proposition I made to you had some merit."

She looked at him and could see a small smile gracing his lips. "Do you think you know me?" she asked.

"I am fairly good at reading people."

As much as she hated admitting it, his offer had its temptations, not that she wanted to admit it. "I think 'manipulating' was the word you were looking for," she teased. "That must come in handy in a place like this."

She realized she was leading them down to the garden. It was one of the few places she knew. The only other were her apartments, where Tabain would be asleep with his nursemaid, or the Malfoy's apartments, which seemed too confrontational a suggestion to contemplate. No, she was not following Malfoy back to his lair. The garden it was.

"You like this garden," he said.

"Well, it is one of the few places I can find."

"And one of the few places where you can be certain no one can overhear you."

Not a revelation she perhaps wanted to hear, that the walls of her own apartments might not be safe against prying ears. "What does he want with us?" she asked.

"Voldemort?"

She nodded and Draco exhaled. "To be adored. To keep anyone that can harm him close and under his thumb."

"Are we supposed to exist like this forever?"

"He can't really let us go. Our lands are our strength, and keeping us here, keeps us weak."

"Except everyone is running around plotting and scheming."

"But the situation he's created ensures we do so against each other, not him. He can keep a good eye on us when we are all in his sight."

They emerged in the darkness of the garden. The moonlight reflected off the long rectangular pond. It was cold, but bearable.

Why Theo wanted a wife away from all this was understandable now, someone who wasn't going to stab him in the back. Draco didn't have that; had never had that. For a moment, she felt sorry for him. "So these night of are letting off steam, for refilling the well, then?"

"Some see it that way, I suppose."

"But not you?"

He didn't answer; he didn't have to as he'd already told her he used these nights to rest. How did he refill his resources?

"Is there no one here you trust?"

"No."

"That is a brutal way of living."

"You get used to it." But he had also stated he'd been confused and then curious about her and the choice Theo had made in marrying her.

"How could you possibly offer me sanctuary if you don't understand the concept?" she teased, walking along one side of the pond, while he did the other.

"I suppose you have me there."

"So you lied?"

"Not exactly."

She stopped and turned to him. It was hard to see expressions through the mask. "You offered me loyalty but had never known any? Or are there? Are there lovers you are loyal to?"

He snorted. "To be honest with you, because it is a night for being honest—in deed, mostly, but we can extend to intent, if you wish. I only take a lover to exert control. They want me and through their desire, I control them."

"You are really not selling yourself."

"I wasn't aware I was on the market." A half grin tugged on his mouth.

"Not what I'm suggesting. But as you say, this is a night of honesty, and as for your seduction attempt, you are doing a very good job of ensuring I'll never fall for your tactics."

"Honest always has its drawbacks."

"Then why do it?"

He didn't answer for a while. "Because it is a night of rest."

They stood still, staring at each other for a while. "I am sorry you live that way."

"Don't be sorry. I am not."

She wasn't one hundred percent sure he was being honest now. He'd revealed that curiosity he held about her, and she suspected he still did—otherwise, he wouldn't be there.

"I don't think you would have any idea how much I would demand of you," she said after a while. The statement surprised him; she could see it even through the mask.

"Are we entering some kind of negotiation here?"

Now it was her turn to be surprised. "Absolutely not. I think we can conclude we would be terrible together. I have expectations of the man in my life—heart and soul. You can't fake that. I know exactly what I want—I've had it before, and I won't compromise."

"I think, Lady Nott, that perhaps you would be the bigger predator out of the two of us."

"That's the thing, Lord Malfoy. It isn't predatory. It means dropping every one of you defenses and trusting someone inside. It's something you can't fake." He seemed to shudder at the idea and she laughed.

She was actually scaring him off, which was novel. "It's heavy and demanding, and takes no prisoners."

"A position I could never afford to put myself in."

"It risks everything. High risk, high reward."

"You are a gambler, I think."

"No. Not when you are sure about the other person."

"I am not sure what pretty words Theo Nott whispered in your ear."

"Not pretty words, hard words. Do you seriously have any notion you could actually seduce me?"

He didn't say anything, instead started walking again, at a slow, leisurely pace. It seemed, he was considering her words. "Probably not words I could ever form."

It felt like they had reached an understanding. They also reached the end of the pond and the water between them no longer served as a barrier—a necessary barrier for an honest conversation. And now something felt laid to rest.

"But then tonight is the night for the impossible, for things we cannot bring ourselves to do any other time. A night where there are not consequences," he said. Hermione wasn't sure what he was saying, was confused, even as his hand snaked around her neck and firmly drew her to him, into a kiss. She hadn't seen it coming, too shocked to respond. Soft, sweet lips pressed to hers, demanding.

Her mind was battling with the sensations rioting in her. He tasted of warmth and wine. In a sense, she had no idea what was going on, but she couldn't make herself break the kiss. It fed something, refilled a well that had run dry.

"I can never be with you," she said breathlessly as he released her, shifting his lips down the column of her neck, finding that spot that made her senses swoon. How had he found it so easily?

His fingers shook as he touched her. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice unsteady.

"Something we should never do," he said, his mouth seeking hers again. She could only agree. They should absolutely not be doing this, but equally, she couldn't make herself stop. She needed this, needed a release for the months and months of heartache, and frustration and longing. Draco Malfoy was the wrong man in every sense, but maybe this was a night for doing all the wrong things. And it felt so good.

The heat of his body felt welcome. The firmness of his arms around her, the demanding kisses. Deep groans resonated in her ear, reverberating down her entire body, flaming the heat that flared harshly inside her. She didn't know whether it was him, or simply longing, that was driving her, and just now, she didn't care. The need was so strong, she couldn't fight it. It felt like a dam had burst.

Soft grass met her back and his weight pressed down on her, feeling glorious. Her legs held him to her, his hardness pressing to her feeling like the most natural thing in the world. Something in the back of her brain was screaming a warning, but it didn't break through the cloying desire that weighed down every breath with heady sweetness.

Deep kisses demanded more in desperate urgency and forceful fingers cleared any garments separating them. His cock pressed at her entrance and for a moment, the alarm screamed. Soft, gray eyed pleaded with her and he pressed inside her, her body yielding. Deliciousness swirled out from her center, claiming every part of her body, and pleasure coursed, heavy and demanding as she opened herself up to him, taking him into her.

Their heavy breaths mingled as he stilled, buried inside her—a moment of sheer intimacy. Then he moved and tension slammed into her, clawing inside her. She needed more. A firm thrust sent wild sensations spiraling through her and her entire existence narrowed to their joining and the pleasure that demanded more.

It refused to be controlled, or slowed, wanting more—everything. She couldn't breathe, the tension holding her lungs like a vice. Another thrust and pleasure surged over her, drawing her into the undertow. Lips sought hers as every part of her tightened, drew together painfully to then implode in exquisite surges.

His hips, ground to hers, fused them together while the pleasure stole everything from them. A strained cry escaped him, holding him in sweet agony for a moment, before he collapsed on her, spent of every strength.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Biting the end of her thumb, Hermione paced around her apartment as Tabain ate his breakfast. He was bright and bubbly after a good night's sleep, but Hermione hadn't slept yet. Her mind was racing because of the developments the previous night.

Had she, despite refusing to be seduced, been so? It had seemed so natural and compelling at the time, but now, in the harsh light of day, she could only conclude that perhaps she had done something silly. It was the night for silliness, however, she told herself. Out of character behavior was allowed, and it had been just a one off, a moment to assuage the loneliness and ache for another person.

It couldn't happen again. It was certainly not going to be a precursor for an affair. Still, she couldn't stop herself from turning over the implications in her mind, some possible strategy he could be using against her. If this had been a game on his part, he was much better at it than she'd given him credit for. If this wasn't a game, she wondered if that was even worse.

Having Draco Malfoy in love with her might be a much worse outcome. Not that she expected him to go against a lifetime of ingrained behavior and personality. No, he was not the kind of person who fell in love, which again made her endlessly return to the question of what this all meant. Closing her eyes, she conceded she had been stupid, causing herself unnecessary complexity. It had been so magical, though, a chance to let go of all the burdens—just for a moment.

If it could only be a one-off thing that meant nothing more, but unfortunately nothing was ever that simple here, was it? And the last thing she wanted was to make her life more complex. Not to mention the fact that he had a wife. Admittedly not a marriage in the way she defined a marriage where the partners loved and trusted one another, or even seemed to expect loyalty. She still could not shake the feeling that she had trespassed on something and she didn't feel good about it. No, what they'd done could never happen again.

Taking a breath, she looked out across the valley and tried to still her mind. It had happened; it had been a one-off and it would never happen again. With a sigh, she turned her attention to Tabain, who was making a bit of a mess with his meal. She smiled and joined him, determined to spend a few hours with him before she slept.

-0-

It was with nervousness that she entered the hall where Voldemort was holding his audience that night. There were some who still looked worse for wear from the night before, but most looked as sparkling and refined as they always did. A juvenile instinct crept in, wondering if Draco had told people of what they'd done, bragged about his conquest.

Perhaps that would be good, a clear indication that they were not friends, and there would never be a question that there would be something more. That was the fraught thing. What if she fell in love with him? That was the thing that could not be borne. Love of any kind would be disastrous.

Obviously, she would never let that happen.

She smiled to Lord Merryworth as she walked past, a man she didn't really know, but seemed to be an acquaintance of Lord Wildsmith. Alliances of alliances had to be respected. By extension, this man might seek to protect her alliance with Wildsmith if it ever were ever threatened, otherwise, like a house of cards, they might all fall down. Unfortunately, it went both ways and she would be embroiled if Merryworth was challenged. On the upside, she was enveloped in a very strong faction.

Draco stood on the other side of the room, talking to a man Hermione didn't know. Casually, he looked over, apparently noticing her attention. A slight nod of his head was the only acknowledgement. She nodded back, then turned away. It told her nothing, but it wasn't bad news either. She would just have to wait to see how this played out.

"Where is she?" a man said harshly and everyone stopped talking. With surprise, Hermione turned to see a man standing in the middle of the room, staring up at Voldemort who was sitting on his throne. "Where is she?" the man repeated. He looked frantic. It was Lord Grayland, the man who had presented his daughter not long ago. What was going on?

Hermione's eyes shifted to Voldemort's whose eyes, instead of being confused and concerned, were narrowed. "Lord Grayland. Have you misplaced your daughter?" Voldemort said wryly.

"What have you done with her?" the man accused.

"Silence," Voldemort said and the man quieted. The entire hall was deathly silent.

"Tell me what you have done with her," the man continued, his voice shaking. In fact, his whole body was shaking.

"I have no idea what you're referring to," Voldemort said curtly, but his anger was clear.

"Give her back."

"I said silence!" Voldemort roared.

"Gerald, please," a woman pleaded, obviously than man's wife.

"She is not yours to take. Give her back. Tell me where she is."

"You dare challenge me! I said I don't know but you're still talking." Voldemort rose from his chair. "How dare you? You think you can demand anything here? This is my court. You do not make demands."

"Our girl," the man pleaded. "We want our girl back."

"Still you prattle. I want, I want, I want. Am I here to please you, Lord Grayland? Am I here to cater to your incessant demands?" The dark lord's voice was rising, echoing off the ceiling. "I want, I want, I want. I don't care what you want. How is what you want possibly relevant? You are nothing."

Hermione couldn't follow, couldn't understand what was going on, or explain how the liege was reacting. The girl, the beautiful one that had been presented just a few days ago, had gone missing. Why did he not show more sympathy?

Draco's eyes were on her, harshly staring and she couldn't help but look back at him. He was warning her, but of what?

And then the hot sizzling sound of a hex, followed by a scream. It made her jump and she tore her eyes back to see the man writhing in agony. The dark lord's wand was resting in his hand. _No_ , her mind screamed. This wasn't right.

"You dare question me, you worm?" the liege spat, pure malice woven through every word. "You dare tell me what I must do?"

Another hex, made Hermione physically cringe. Even this second hex one was so outlandish, she was utterly surprised by it. The man contracted in pain.

"Gerald," the woman called and a hex was cast at her as well, felling her to the ground.

" _You_ do not challenge me," Voldemort screamed, the rage shaking his voice and the white of his eyes flashed as he attacked the man again, this time with something cutting hex. Blood splattered on the floor around him. "This is _my_ court. You live here by _my_ grace."

The scene in front of her was so insane, Hermione could not believe what her eyes were telling her. An atrocity was unfolding in front of her. Something had to be done. Voldemort was killing this man. He had to be stopped. The poor man was only looking of his daughter. Why wasn't anyone doing anything?

Draco's eyes were still harsh when he looked back. "No," he mouthed. She could only stare at him; he refused to let her look away. Why was he stopping her? Why was no one doing anything? The man screamed and she physically wavered in shock and horror.

Draco still held her gaze locked to his, refusing to let her look back. He was warning her not to interfere, while her instinct told her to rush to the man's defense. She had no wand, no weapon, but what was occurring was so beyond wrong, she couldn't bear it.

She would die if she interfered. That was what Draco was warning her and Hermione couldn't question that it was true. She would die if she tried to help.

The screams stopped and Hermione finally tore her gaze away, seeing both Lord and Lady Grayland's dead bodies on the floor. They had implied that Voldemort had done something to their daughter, and by his reaction, it could only be true. He had done something to the girl, and it had been during the masquerade—perhaps even the reason the masquerade had been commanded. It had been something he'd decreed shortly after the girl's introduction. It had been intended for her, and premeditated.

Nausea turned Hermione's stomach and she knew without a doubt that this girl was dead. Whatever Voldemort had done, this girl had not survived, and the Grayland's had accused him—and died for it.

Shock made her chest so tight; she couldn't breathe. She'd been so distracted by the vile politics of the court, she had forgotten how insane Voldemort was, had overlooked the threat he posed to all of them. Anyone who challenged him, in anything he did, died. How could she have overlooked the biggest threat for petty intimidations.

People moved as if they had been unfrozen, chatting with each other as if nothing had happened. The bloodied bodies still lay on the floor as people skirted past them as if there were foul things on the floor.

Why aren't they doing anything, she wanted to scream, but knew she would join the Graylands on the floor if she did—ignored as if they weren't there. This was not something new, or unexpected, she realized. She was the only one who hadn't expected it. How could she not have seen this, understood this? Voldemort was utterly insane, taking a girl's life, and then her parents, on a whim, or because they challenged his vile beastliness.

She had been worried about Draco and the petty meanness of Pansy and Astoria when they were all under the thumb of an insane and callous tyrant. Draco had warned her Voldemort had been prowling around. He'd known what he would do, but he hadn't said anything. _A time to rest_ , he had said, while Voldemort ran around and murdered anyone he pleased. How could he stand by and do nothing? How could he have been down in the garden with her, intimate with her, when some girl was being murdered? Had he known that would happen? If so, that was unforgivable.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Hermione had never been so pleased to be released from the evening's entertainment. Even as she left, she still felt breathless with shock, unable to know where her mind was. She had just witnessed two people being murdered, and the whole court had stood by and watched. Their inaction showed the level of both fear and acceptance amongst all the people there. There was nothing they could do. This was not a court where reason and common sense prevailed. Beneath the glittering surface, this court was as insane as she had initially expected—she'd just forgot, being distracted by the political moves and countermoves.

As she walked, she saw Malfoy walking ahead, sharp strides with his back to her. He'd stopped her; he'd know what Voldemort would do. Picking up pace, she crossed the distance between them. "Did you know?" she demanded.

"Did I know what?" he said without stopping. Apparently, he didn't want to have this conversation with her, that perhaps he'd known what would happen, been intimate with her, seduced her, while a girl was being destroyed somewhere for Voldemort's pleasure.

"Did you know Voldemort would kill that girl?"

Finally, he stopped and turned to her, his face impassive. He bit his lip as if tasting it, or making up what he was going to say. Would he lie to her? Of course he would, she decided, chiding herself for being stupid enough to think even for a moment that he wouldn't.

"I did not know," he said.

Crossing her arm, she stared into his cool eyes, but he didn't look away, in no way wavering in his expressionless countenance. "But you knew something."

"Yes, I knew something," he admitted. "Voldemort does not call for masquerades without a reason. His victims don't usually mention it. This time it seems the victim is not coming back."

"What happened to her?"

"It is not for us to ask."

"How can you say that?"

"Because you saw what happened to the person who did," he said, seemingly losing some of his calm collectedness. There was an anger seeping out, but it felt directed toward her rather than Voldemort.

"And we do nothing. How can we just let him get away with it? That poor girl."

"Don't you get it? We are all at his mercy. Count yourself lucky that you weren't in his sights, Lady Nott. Someone had been from the very start."

"Why don't we—?"

Quick as lightening, he pressed his finger down on her lips. "Do you recall what I said about the walls having ears? You're not going to survive here if you do and say stupid things."

Did that include sleeping with him, she wanted to ask.

"You survived. That is what matters. You are lucky enough to get to live and fight another day. We are all at his mercy; we do what he wants us to or there will be unpleasant consequences. He is the liege and you will serve him, and yourself better if you understand and accept that."

She stepped closer, leaning up to his ear and he let her, but not bending down. "He has to be stopped." Stepping back, she looked up into his eyes.

"That time has come and gone, and scores of people died in the pursuit. He is too strong and we are too weak. You must exist within the system. It is your only choice or you will be the next one on the floor," he warned, speaking in low, hissing tones. "Make no mistake, Lady Nott, this game is definitely lethal, and don't delude yourself otherwise."

Malfoy walked away and Hermione drew in a shuddering breath. Had she just done something even more dangerous—talking about treason with someone who effectively wanted her removed? The comradery they'd had during one night wasn't something she should depend on.

Watching him walk around the corner, she chided herself. She could not trust him and was stupid to act like she could. Malfoy was the strongest person she knew here at court, and he had basically told her that acting against Voldemort was fruitless and ultimately suicidal. Accepting that thought was awful, but she knew Voldemort had magic stronger than any other person living, and he had stripped the magic out of all but his own court magicians. Any unapproved magic was met with instant death. Walking around the halls saying Voldemort needed to be removed would met with equal punishment. She could not afford to be stupid.

What was she going to do, she thought as she paced around the hall. For now, she had to trust Malfoy not to hang her with her own loose tongue. For past transgressions, she would have to depend on him, or shortly pay the price. The problem with transgressions was that they hung around, remaining as threats for years to come. She could not afford to act this way.

At least Voldemort didn't seems to arbitrarily murder people every day. It was only the people who stood against him, or questioned him in any way. She couldn't afford to be one of them, because no one would come to her aid and she was a little ant compared to Voldemort and his power. That was sadly a fact.

But he'd murdered a sweet and innocent girl, and Hermione didn't even dare think why. The answer refused to remain hidden: because he wanted to. Nausea clenched her stomach again. He had no limits. There was nothing he wasn't willing to do. During the war, when he'd taken over the land, he'd killed sways of people, even people who bowed down before him.

Here, in this court, these were the people he'd picked to exist around him and she was now one of them. They were at his mercy and she had to find some way to live with that. But she was in danger, even more than she'd recognized a few hours ago. It wasn't just the backstabbing and ruthlessness of the people here, trying to get the better of her, trying to take her land. There was an insane tyrant watching over them each night, with unspeakable urges and instincts.

She couldn't keep Tabain here. If Voldemort ever sought to punish her, he would do so with what would hurt her the most and that would be her son. The man was willing to kill, or whatever he had done, to that sweet, young girl, he probably had no qualms about hurting a child, and the people would stand around and watch like that had today. In their hearts, feeling sorry for her, but showing nothing on their faces, like Malfoy had.

With renewed urgency, Hermione returned to her apartments. "Marie," she called to Tabain's nursemaid. "You and Tabain need to pack."

"Madam?" the girl said, appearing in the entrance hall.

"I'm sending you back to the estate. Now. Hurry." For some reason, she felt she needed to get Tabain to safety as soon as possible. There was a chance that Malfoy would used the ammunition she'd just given him. She couldn't depend that he wouldn't.

Hermione ordered a trunk to be brought and a carriage to be prepared. It wasn't Tabain that was ordered to be here, it was her, so he should be able to leave without incident. Checking on that fact brought its own perils. Heralding to Voldemort that Tabain was leaving would only highlight his presence to the person she wanted him completely hidden from.

If she had the choice, she would go as well, but she had to stay, had to represent the family or devastation would wreak down on her and everyone she loved. In truth, Malfoy's offer had never been so appealing, but she could not afford to give into her own weakness. Voldemort would not live forever and giving the family estate away because of fear of dealing with him—well, that was a weakling and a coward. As unpleasant as this place was, she had to persevere.

Holding her son tightly to her, she carried him down to the nearest courtyard, the one they had arrived at, where a carriage was waiting.

"How long will we be gone?" Marie asked.

"I don't know. It's not safe for you here—either of you."

Tabain struggled a bit, clearly upset by the confusion and commotion. Hermione crouched down with him in his arms. The last thing she wanted to do was send him off, but she had to. It wasn't safe here. "You are going on a journey, my love," she said, making her voice as bright as she could. "Nana is going to throw you a party and you will go home and see her. It will be wonderful, and I will come shortly."

"Nana," Tabain said with a smile. He hadn't forgotten his grandmother.

Theo had been given leave to go check on his estates—surely she would be given leave as well. Holding him close, she kissed his dark curls on top of his head, drawing in the scent of him. How could she exist without him?

They had never been parted, and Tabain would miss her as much as she would miss him, but it couldn't be helped. She had no guarantees that he was safe here and it was better to have him out of reach.

"I won't be far away," she promised. "I will come as soon as I can."

Fortunately, she knew the dowager Lady Nott would take good care of him. At least she didn't have to worry about that. Tabain would have the whole estate at his disposal, and all his toys. Marie would be there to take care of everything he needed, making sure he dressed and napped and bathed.

Against her own instincts, she lifting him up, she put him into the carriage, holding onto his small, squiggling body a little longer than necessary.

Tabain hadn't really understood they were leaving without her until they set off and she heard him cry as the carriage pulled away. It broke her heart and almost made her relent on her decision. As much as this would hurt her, he had to be safe and there was no safety here. Hot, angry tears spilled own her cheeks and she wiped them away. She could not afford to be hurt, to be soft. This was about survival.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

The apartments seemed empty without Tabain and Hermione felt lost. The world had shifted under her feet and she didn't know where she stood anymore. The things she'd cared about a few short days ago were thing she didn't care about now, but that wasn't a luxury she could afford. Destitution, or worse, was still a very real threat, although now, the threat of being one of Voldemort's victims hung over her head as well.

She simply had to navigate this world. And to think she'd been worried about Astoria and her sharp tongue. That seemed to be the least of her problems. So inconsequential it hardly registered.

Malfoy was another issue she didn't know how to deal with. What she didn't know was what they were now. Were they enemies, was perhaps the pertinent question. She had been too liberal, too open and that left her open to him taking advantage. She could fully see him stripping her land off her with a 'hard luck' expression on his face. It would be nothing personal.

But he might have other ideas. Had their tryst started something more meaningful? She didn't think so. He'd pointed out too many times how abstract he saw the masquerade nights. Probably so she wouldn't misunderstand. No problem there. She wasn't aching for something more meaningful from him. If Malfoy was something, he was dangerous, and dropping her guard around him might be fatal.

They were gathering that night in the southern, yellow hall. That was a new one for her. For some reason, Voldemort liked to move around and Hermione suspected that was part of his paranoia.

As per usual, she donned one of her gowns, wore her finest jewelry and made herself as beautiful as possible. She hated every part of this. This presentation of herself was not her, not how she saw herself, but she had to do it. This was armor in a way.

Her skirts were heavy that night. They would be useless to run in, but what point was there in running? There was nowhere to run to. Voldemort's spies were absolutely everywhere. If someone was not where he placed them, he soon had them exactly where he wanted.

Taking a deep breath, which was difficult in the confines of the gown, she steadied herself before entering whatever hall Voldemort had picked for the night. Elves opened the double doors for her entrance. The hall certainly was yellow. It was lined with portraits, including a few of Voldemort, looking a tad more human than he did in reality, surrounded by treasures and the elder wand in hand. These paintings were propaganda if she'd ever seen it. He wanted people to see how powerful he was, and with that wand, he was basically undefeatable.

Everyone was dressed in their finery. As opposed to when she'd first arrived, she knew who most of the faces were. She knew the harmless ones and the ones she had to keep an eye on. It was almost as if you had to worry about the nice ones; the ones that smiled to your face, because in this environment, kindness did not thrive.

Pansy walked leisurely on the other side in a marine green dress, the material shimmering with the movement. Astoria appeared next to her, taking her arm and walking with her. Did they even trust each other, Hermione wondered. Did Astoria have any idea what Pansy said behind her back?

As they walked, Astoria looked over, her eyes sparkling in with the candles around the hall. She smiled a greeting, but it sent shivers down Hermione's spine in its false friendliness. Although Hermione wasn't so worried about Astoria's games, she still had to guard herself, because Astoria wasn't done with her.

Astoria shifted from Pansy's arm to Lord Hollyrood, a man Hermione didn't know, but one who obviously thought well of himself. Hermione would even go so far as to call him a dandy. The intimacy on display in their stance suggested they knew each other well, were probably even lovers.

Hermione attention drew to the entrance as Malfoy entered, dressed darkly as he preferred, his hair tied back. His face was stoic, as if uninterested and slightly bored. Astoria let slip her lover's arm and took a step away. If she was trying to hide her activities from her husband, she wasn't doing a terribly good job. Surely she didn't think Malfoy was unaware of what she did.

It was none of Hermione's affair, but again she felt sorry for Malfoy, being caught in such a marriage. Then again, it was one he'd engineered for power and land. Should one feel sorry for the choices people consciously made? Had she the right to look down on him for it? It may come one day that she would have to make an impossible decision and even have to marry someone for survival. She hoped not, and her aim would be to avoid that fate.

Malfoy wandered and spoke to people. He was walking her way and Hermione felt a nervousness she wished she didn't. "Lady Nott," he said, his voice deep and bored. There was no particular kindness or familiarity in it. "I trust you are enjoying the evening."

"Of course," she said.

"Good. Just to let you know. I saw Lord Wildesmith talking to Lord Curstjoy earlier. Now that is interesting, don't you think? Is his land not near yours?" His voice was light. "If I were you, I would be wondering how firm your alliance is."

He departed and Hermione had to wonder if he was messing with her, or if the warning was genuine. It wasn't as if he seemed worried about the news, but then he wouldn't be. His aim of getting her land had not changed just because she'd been intimate with him. If she fell, rather than try to catch her, he would be there to clean up her assets.

It was good to know that some things hadn't change. He could have lied, she supposed, made it seem as if they had an alliance and hidden his true intentions. Perhaps this had an integrity all its own. At least she knew where she stood. Nothing had changed, and that might be for the best. It would perhaps serve her to have a chat with Wildesmith later, to look him in the eye and hear his intentions. Would she be able to tell if he was lying? She hoped so. But then, undermining their alliance would be a natural strategy for an enemy. And that was exactly what Malfoy might be doing. Her walking away from her alliance would put her lands in play again.

Voldemort sat on his throne, watching the proceedings, looking sullen. "Now," he said and everyone in the hall quietened, listening to what he had to say. "I think we are overdue for a hunt."

A murmur washed through the hall. Hermione frown, wondering what horrid thing she would be subjected to now. One couldn't take any of Voldemort's suggestions at face value. Everything seemed to have a hidden agenda or a caveat.

Voldemort rose and walked across his platform, as if he was pensive. "But not just a hunt. I want to hunt something spectacular. No standard creature, no. I want something with deadly teeth and claws. I want a Nemean lion."

A gasp spread through the court. Nemean lions were creatures of myth, with an uncommon fierceness and golden fur. In her mind's eye, she saw them all running for their lives, defenseless against this beast.

At no time had a real Nemean lion every been recorded. What trickery was Voldemort playing at? His madness was unbounded, it seemed.

"Bring me the magician," he ordered, standing with his legs apart. Eager madness shone through his beady eyes.

Silence reigned over the entire court as they waited minute by minute. This request was completely outrageous, a request to hunt a mythical animal that didn't exist, one know to be impervious to weapons. Was this some kind of ruse, a proposition to fight an unfightable animal? He would see himself as capable of that.

It had to be another way for Voldemort to show and prove his power, a victory only he could render. Such feats proved to all of the nobility how strong he was and by that, he was the rightful ruler of them all.

Hermione's eyes traveled to Malfoy, who didn't look back at her. He didn't seem surprised, maybe even a bit curious.

The doors parted in silence and Mr. Lovegood appeared, looking haggard and confused. His gait was unsteady and feeble as he walked through the middle of the parted hall toward Voldemort's throne. Painfully, he bowed.

"I want a Nemean lion," Voldemort requested, his voice booming across the hall.

"My lord," Lovegood said. "The creature you speak of is not real." His gaze dashed left and right, betraying his fear and uncertainty.

Voldemort's head twisted sideways. "You cannot raise a measly beast for me? I wonder what use you are, Mr. Lovegood. It is said you are a powerful wizard, but you cannot perform the simplest things. Must I do everything myself? If that is the case, I wonder why I keep you around, Mr. Lovegood."

"My liege," Lovegood said ingratiatingly. His body positively trembled with fear.

Discomfort flared in Hermione's belly. This was how bad thing started and all she wanted was for the old man not to end up as a mangled heap on the floor.

Voldemort stilled. This was worse, Hermione said, shifting between her feet, knowing yet again that she could absolutely not interfere. That would draw a harsh punishment from Voldemort because she would openly be questioning his judgement and edicts, something he saw as unforgivable. "Are you telling me it cannot be done?"

"The magics to create a creature from fantasy would be difficult. I assume you do not want a mere rendering?"

The liege raised an eyebrow and everyone laughed as if cued to. Lovegood looked around nervously.

 _Please have something_ , Hermione urged. _Lie if you must_.

"Such has never been done," he hacked out, his shoulders drawn up to his ears.

"I didn't ask if it could be done," Voldemort said coldly. "I told you I wanted one, and I want it ferocious. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord," Lovegood replied.

"Yes, I can, or yes I understand. Careful how you answer," Voldemort said with levity now and again everyone laughed. "We find incompetence so tiresome."

Hermione held her breath, hoping Voldemort didn't decide he was wasting his time. _Lie_ , she urged.

"I will find a way," Lovegood said, bowing deeply.

Raising his head higher, Voldemort watched him for a moment before finally dismissing him with a wave of his hand. Lovegood didn't need further encouragement and slinked out of the hall.

Closing her eyes, Hermione tried to hide the sigh of relief she felt. For a moment, she'd been worried that the old man would be tortured and killed before them, but he'd survived. The humiliation Voldemort had leveled at him was embarrassing and painful, but it was a small price compared to the one Voldemort could have exacted.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

The relative uneventfulness of the next few days only let Hermione reflect on the time prior. The loss of her son's presence and the shock of the things she'd seen were catching up with her and she felt increasingly raw. Voldemort seemed to be settling down, returning to a more amenable mood, but the recent past felt like scars on her consciousness. The fear and determination of the time of danger was relenting and the effects of it were now unfolding on her.

All she wanted was to stay in bed and sleep, but she couldn't. With Voldemort in a better disposition, they might be safer from his temper, but she was still placing herself in peril by ignoring her duties.

Malfoy's warnings that her alliance was perhaps less than secure prayed on her mind. The one thing she needed here, other than Voldemort's tolerance, was that alliance. She had to think of something to do to reaffirm or strengthen it. Unfortunately nothing was coming to her. It felt like her mind was clogged, her heart too loud in its sorrow from having to send Tabain away, and the horrible things she'd seen.

Wallowing in self-pity wasn't going to achieve her anything. She had to be stronger than this. Tabain depended on her. Pulling herself together, she rose from her bed and dressed for the evening. This was just a reaction, she told herself, a response to the stress. It would pass and she would find an even keel again.

As fine as she looked, she couldn't quite remove the glassiness of unshed tears from her eyes. Her heart felt raw, but she collected herself as she stared into the mirror. She would get through the night and she would recover from these morose feelings.

A deep breath and she set out for the night. The diamond and ruby necklace was still cold around her neck, heavy like a manacle. Despite its beauty, she was just as much a prisoner here as any poor wretch Voldemort kept locked in his prisons. But they all pretended they weren't, and that was the game of this court. Their antics entertained the dark lord and playing the game was mandatory.

With a shaky smile, she walked to the evening's entertainment. There was to be a play. A stage had been set up at the end of the hall, red velvet curtains hanging to hide the stage and the scenery. Gilded chairs surrounded the stage and Voldemort's throne had been set up behind that—so he could see them all as well, to judge their reactions.

"Lord Wildesmith," she said and slowly curtsied. "You look well rested. I hope you are looking forward to this tantalizing hunt."

"I am," he said. "A Medean lion. No doubt the liege will slay it, but it will be a frightful sight. I suspect some of the ladies will swoon."

"The excitement will likely be extreme. Are you a hunter, my lord?" she asked. All the while, she was trying to think of ways to strengthen their alliance. One thing she understood was that she could not show weakness during this hunt. If she 'swooned', Wildersmith would think she is weak. A show of strength would be even better regarded, but she certainly couldn't slay a lion. She had to consider what role her apparent relationship with Malfoy played in this alliance. The fact that they spoke had certainly not gone unnoticed, even if the shocking fact that they'd been intimate had. These things had meaning, but Malfoy had been clear what his objectives were. In fact, he wanted to break it up this alliance to weaken her. And that was perhaps her saving grace, because her weakened would weaken Wildersmith.

"Sport do not really suit my sensibilities," he admitted.

"Yet, we must appreciate a heroic effort. I take it our liege is an excellent huntsman."

"He has slayed the most dangerous beasts."

"As must we all, in our way," she said, not entirely sure what she was promising, but she was subtly letting him know that is there were tobe a fight, she would do her bit—that she would not fold in the heat of confrontation. It was perhaps both a pledge and a warning. At some point, Wildesmith would make a move on someone and she would have to lend her support—as long as it wasn't her he was moving against.

Looking over, she saw Malfoy speaking to a group. As usual, he wore dark clothes, his hair gleaming in the light. Maybe it would even come that they take on his faction. It would certainly be a risk, a big fish to take down, but she had to be prepared for it.

"Are you setting your sights high, my lady?" Wildesmith asked, obviously having noted her attention.

"In good time," she said as a way of diffusing the moment, and also communicating that a significant move was not something she feared. The unattainable end result was to clean up, wasn't it? She turned her attention back to Wildesmith. "These things must be carefully considered, do they not?"

Wildesmith was impressed and obviously had no idea it was all bravado. She had no idea what she was doing and being so mercenary was absolutely not in her nature—but that was an image she had to project, even if inside, all she wanted to do was curl up and cry. Perhaps her strength in this alliance was her apparent willingness and goal to take out Malfoy.

With a nod, she bid goodbye, pleased with her effort. If Wildesmith had been unsure about her, he was no longer unsure about her level of ambition. A small smile graced her lips as she walked away. She was getting better at this game. Strength was mostly in the telling, it seemed. Some day she would be tested and she had to prepare to be the victor at that time—whatever it took.

The play was about to start and they were asked to take their seats. Voldemort appeared when they were seating themselves and all bowed or curtsied as he appeared.

Malfoy sat on the other end of the group of chairs. His dark gray eyes meeting hers as she looked over. There was no softness, but an almost imperceptible bow was her greeting. She still had absolutely no idea what his true intentions were. In a way, they had an intimacy, but his stated objectives were still to take from her, and he made no move to hide it. An alliance with him would be strong, but there was no indication such an alliance was even possible.

There was also a danger in changing the balance of power within the court. Too much on one side and Voldemort would grow concern. Their factions kept them weak and that pleased him. He both admired and feared power, it seemed.

The audience was shushed and the velvet curtains drew back. Troubadours with heavily painted faces and gaudy costumes appeared.

"My lords and ladies," a man with dark hair and a white face said, bowing almost to the ground. He had a wig like a page, apparently the narrator of this play. The plot of the play was disjointed, but there were apparently some evil merchants from another land, and a maiden in peril of being stolen. Then the character of the liege appeared, wearing a fur-lined cape and sharpened features drawn onto the actors face.

Hermione, along with the people around her, held their breath, unsure how Voldemort would react. There was a strong chance he could see himself being mocked by this presentation, which meant the evening would end with broken bodies on the floor.

The actor's voice boomed across the room, demanding the merchants leave. As the men protested, the theatrical king brandished a golden wand and smithed them. They dropped to the floor in screaming agony and the maiden ran into his arms in gratitude as the glorious king triumphed. The peasants cheered and the maiden crouched at his legs with a look of sheer adoration.

Silence reigned over the crowd, waiting for Voldemort's verdict. So, apparently, did the actors, who must know their very lived depended on his reaction.

"Bravo," he said and the court broke out in cheer, most rising to applaud. Hermione stood as well, not perhaps clapping as enthusiastically as some. It was a deplorable play with poor acting and scare plot beyond the king conquering. Perhaps the only message a group of players could safely present in the citadel. Hermione wondered if they presented something very different away from here, or were they too scared even if the most distant towns of this kingdom.

"Did you enjoy the play?" she heard Malfoy's now familiar voice and turned to him.

"The only difference between the troubadours and us is that we are better actors."

Malfoy smiled. "You are determined to get yourself into trouble one of these days, Lady Nott. The liege would be mortally offended by your cynicism."

Yes, she was handing him more ammunition, but there was something risqué within their association. He already had enough ammunition to act against her if he wished to, but she suspected it was not the type of ammunition he would use. They had no alliance, and she was not safe from him, but truthful opinions wasn't the warfare he played. When he made his move, it would be something much more profound. He didn't play tattletale as many in this court viewed warfare. It was what made the difference between a true threat and a dabbler.

He stepped a little closer, but didn't bend down. "If you are to survive in this court, you really can't wear your emotions on you sleeve."

"I wasn't aware I was."

"Your melancholy is almost tangible." She hadn't even been melancholy, she wanted to retort. She'd done a good job defending her position in her alliance, and now he came along saying she wore her heart on her sleeve. "Eyes that sparkling show either sadness or madness. You are anything but mad."

He seemed to have a knack for cutting through her masks. "I thought I was doing a very good job hiding it."

"Your emotions make you weak."

"It is a passing phase," she said, against her better judgement, feeling both exhilarated and intimidated to have him so near.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Tonight they were in some kind of performance space. There were dancers, dressing in white tulle and they shone in the dark space that was draped with red velvet along the walls. The dancers were young girls, clearly of the lower orders, but they were skilled and very pretty with flowers in their hair. Most weren't paying them too much attention, instead milling around each other, conducting the typical court gossip. What schemes were being hatched that night, Hermione wondered as she stood by a column and watched.

The court had returned to normal, it seemed, but Hermione didn't trust the apparent peace one bit. Everyone here was effectively trying to influence Voldemort's next action, have it be to their benefit by smiting an enemy, enhancing their position, or just finding some entertainment in what was quite a monotonous court life. Day in and day out, they did the same thing. It was just the target, the winners and the losers that shifted.

Through the dark evening, she spotted Draco, who walked leisurely through the crowd in his typical black attire, his long blond hair swept back into a queue. He spotted her too, but drew his attention away from her to the person who was engaging him.

Hermione wasn't in the mood to talk. In fact, she felt sullen and drained. It wasn't like she ever wanted to be there, but she particularly didn't want to be there that night.

"Little bird's been whispering in my ear," Draco said beside her, taking her by surprise.

"Oh yes?"

"Apparently, you have been telling people you are going to take me out," he said, standing straight and looking down his nose at her, his hands clasped behind his back. A relaxed stance, but there was that steel behind his serene countenance. Not an ounce of concern or upset showing—but then he didn't ever show anything but slight boredom.

So, he'd heard that. This was awkward and more than a little alarming. "And who has been telling such tales?" she asked, knowing she could very well be on thin ice here, depending on how he took this. She couldn't afford to make an enemy of Draco Malfoy. Obviously, they weren't friends, but she didn't want him emotionally invested in gunning for her either.

"I'm not sure if it matters."

"It matters if it was on told by someone I have every reason to trust," she said, trying her best not to look flustered. This could end up really badly.

He was silent, a silence which through she could tell he was livid.

"It's not what you think."

"Is that so?" he said guardedly. "It sounded a lot like what I think."

Quickly, his hand whipped up to her neck and he pushed her back into the red velvet curtain, effectively hiding them from view. There was apparently a space behind the curtain, not large, but enough to hide them. Wonderful. He could murder her in front of everyone and they wouldn't know.

Looking up into his cold gray eyes, she could tell he was angry. For once, he seemed to show rare emotion as he placed his hands on either sides of her head, trapping her against the wall. The curtains were so heavy they blocked even the sounds of the court.

"Then tell me what I should think," he said, the warning clear in his voice.

Hermione swallowed, feeling the anger rolling off him.

"You clearly said it. Openly."

"Not so openly. I was overcompensating," she said, swallowing hard. Did she really think Malfoy would murder her? The ugly truth was that she wasn't sure. That he was ruthless, she had no doubt.

He raised an eyebrow, his mouth tightly drawn, his eyes pinning hers with their intensity.

"I needed to stake my position within my alliance, and ambition seemed a good card to play," she stammered.

"It would certainly be ambitious." He bit the words sharply as he crowded her, physically intimidating her. It was clear how much larger he was than her, physically stronger, and he wanted her to look him in the eyes, to meet his gaze. "Do you think you can take me?"

"I expect my alliance to seek to temper my unbridled ambition, to seek an easier target."

She wasn't sure he was buying her explanation, his eyes shifting between hers. He was listening, at least. "It is the truth. You told me yourself my position within my alliance was being questioned. It is not anymore. Wildersmith is too cautious to move against you, but he very much likes the idea that I am willing to move against an ambitious target. It makes him even more cautious."

Draco gave no indication he believed her; he only watched, his expression cold.

"But I am worried if Wildersmith has been talking about my ambition to others," she admitted.

"Have I not told you that there are ears everywhere?"

"It wasn't him?" she asked.

"And why should I tell you that?"

"Why should you? You want me insecure and questioning my alliance. Either way," she said more harshly. "They don't question me now."

The change was imperceptible, but there was a change, a ratchet down in intensity. "You could be lying through your teeth. You are pretty enough," he said, his thumb stroking down her cheek. It was neither gentle nor aggressive.

"Do pretty people make good liars?"

"Pretty people are very distracting."

"I'm not moving against you," she stated. "I'm not stupid."

"Or far more cunning that I've given you credit for. Perhaps we are all dancing to your tune."

Again there was a shift in his eyes and his gaze moved lower. Cupping her face, he reached for her, kissed her. She hadn't expected it and the sensations were pummeling her, his lips firm and demanding, his tongue plunging into her mouth.

He pulled back slightly. "Don't make me punish you. I would probably enjoy it more than you'd like me to."

She didn't understand the statement, but it slipped away from her mind when he kissed her again, equally brutal. There was nothing asking about him; he was taking. There was a part of her that knew she should stop this, but she couldn't bring herself to. All the pent up agitation and worry just seemed to melt, leaving nothing but sheer, gripping desire.

Strong fingers tugged at her neckline, a sweeping curve from shoulder to shoulder, pulling it down until she was exposed. His warm hand cupped her breast, kneading it, the sensation connecting straight to her core, making her insides clench with his demanding ministrations. He squeezed her straining bud between his thumb and forefinger, hard enough to skirt that questionable level between pain and pleasure.

His ragged breath resonated through her ears, reverberating down her skin. In a way, he was punishing her, showing her how he could take and she couldn't stop him. He was right.

Alarms sounded in her mind, because part of her wanted to question what was going on, while her mind and body was caught by the desire he rendered in her. "If someone pulls those curtains, we'll be seen," she said, trying to get her mind to consider the dangers here—the immediate of being observed, if not the more pressing one of what his intentions were.

"Yes," he said unapologetically. His hands pulled up her skirts, revealing her even more. If the curtains parted, she would be completely in flagrante, exposed for all to see.

Lifting her thighs around him, he pressed to her core, flaring the untamed desire that was melting her from the inside. Her whole body was a mess of aching need and he kissed her, firmly and again, unapologetic. Even as he did, she wondered if he was using her desire for him against her.

Some shifting and then tearing, his tip was at her entrance, pushing into her. The assault of sensations made her lose any concept of where she was and a gasp escaped her throat. The heat was burning her, the sensation wild and untamed. His palm pressed to her mouth, but she didn't care. The pleasure had a sharp edge and she was captive to it, her world narrowing to the two of them, or rather the feel of him inside her.

A sharp thrust had him lodged deep inside her, her gasp muffled by his hand. Another sharp thrust. This wasn't pretty, it was dirty and it was rough, and she couldn't stop. Her desire flowed out of every part of her. She needed his lips, she needed his skin, and she needed him inside her. And she also knew that in some way, her own desire was part of her punishment—one she was complicit in.

Quaking waves of pleasure washed over her, like the most profound drug she had ever known, pulling her down into and submerging her in sheer, exquisite pleasure. The hand on her mouth prevented her from breathing, but she didn't care, still too absorbed and caught in the release that took absolutely everything.

As he ground to her, the pleasure only extended, stretched in a frozen moment which she didn't ever want to end. Deep groans reverberated through her ears, her teeth seeking something along his cheek, but not finding it. Warm lips returned to hers and in the afterglow, there was finally some softness, some gentility.

With her still fighting for breath, he released her thighs and her legs sank down to the ground, but she knew they wouldn't support her just yet. Everything had been taken from her, leaving her empty with heaving breath and a mind that failed to restart. Her mind and every part of her body felt utterly languid, when she knew she should be on guard.


	24. Chapter 24

=Chapter 24

Not for the first time was Hermione pacing around her apartment due to Draco Malfoy. The sanest part of her couldn't explain what had just happened, or rather how she'd reacted. In a sense, she'd folded like a wet paper towel, giving into his ministrations without a single objection—craving what he'd done to her. She'd just wanted him so badly, even as he was essentially exercising control over her.

If she hadn't thought he was seducing her before, she did now, and she was wrapped around his little finger, it seemed. What had she gotten herself into? She could not allow that to happen again. It was enough; she was not going to play his mind games, even if her body still sang with energy. Somehow, he'd snuck under her skin and was now playing games with her.

There was always that temptation in the back of her mind, the irrational part that tried to convince her this wasn't some Machiavellian seduction and ploy for power, that this meant something, that he was as caught up in the heat generated between them as she was. But she would be foolish to believe that. That would be like a woman believing a violent man wouldn't be violent again. Malfoy was a political predator, and she was falling into a trap. No more.

A knock on the door interrupted her and for a moment she feared it was him, as if he'd read her mind or sensed her resolution, but it was an elf holding a large box.

"Delivery, lady," the elf said, holding the box out for her, which she took, thanking him. The white box was heavy and she took it to the hall table, opening it to see a spear inside. The blade itself looked new and shiny, while feathers surrounded the shaft, like some prop from a jungle play. It was a real blade though, with a sharp edge.

Hermione shuddered staring down at the primitive instrument. This had to mean the hunt was on and Mr. Lovegood had found some way of creating a Medean lion. This court full with sharp spears was probably not a good idea, but maybe that was the point. It could be Voldemort wanted them to fear turning their back on each other. There wasn't a single person at this court which she could entirely trust holding a spear.

However this hunt would turn out, it wouldn't be fun and she expected she would see something she didn't want to. The ideal outcome would be that the lion slays Voldemort, she thought with a snort, but doubted they would have such luck. People like Voldemort never died; they were too stubborn and mean to ever relinquish their hold on power.

Still, she had the ominous feeling someone would end up dead. Hunts were blood sports, after all.

-0-

They were taken across the valley to the mountains, to a smaller valley surrounded by steep walls of rock. The perfect killing ground, Hermione thought soberly. Along with others, she was herded to a rock protrusion, which was surrounded by sentries. Grudgingly she carried the spear she'd been given, along with everyone else, not wanting to attract attention by not accepting the gift Voldemort had provided. He always looked for such dissent.

It was mostly women on this rocky platform, which meant the men where somewhere else, or expected to participate in this hunt. Her thoughts immediately stole to Malfoy, and she cursed herself for it. She should probably rejoice if he was ripped to pieces by a mythically ferocious lion.

Voldemort arrived, looking cruel and regal, his robes catching the cold wind and flaring behind him. His spear looked made of gold and Hermione knew without doubt it was magically imbued. Men surrounded him and she could see Malfoy, standing with his spear. He had a serious expression on his face and she wondered what was going through his mind. Did he fear death? She doubted he trusted Voldemort to keep them safe. A few slayed members would only add to the spectacle.

"Release the lion," Voldemort bellowed.

All attention turned to the gate covering an opening cut into the rock itself. The beast emerged slowly, crouched low as it surveyed the terrain. The low rumble of its growl reverberated off the rocks. It was massive, its mane having almost a golden sheen. It had a face as large as a man's torso and the coldest eyes she'd ever seen—truly the eyes of a predator.

No, this was all wrong. Why were they doing this? People would get hurt. She saw the men shift uncomfortably beneath them, infinitely grateful she wasn't asked to be down there hunting it. Apparently, hunting wasn't something Voldemort saw as women's sport.

A giggle stole her attention and she saw Astoria and Pansy whispering and pointing at someone down below. Some apparently found amusement in this, thoroughly inappropriate as their levity was. Someone was about to die and the best case scenario it would be only the lion. Still, it was horrendous to kill a beast simply for the bloody joy of it.

Hermione wished this would all stop and she startled as the beast jumped, taking a boulder in its stride. Crouching, its muscles strained and claws practically cut into the stone itself. A swipe with one of its paws would likely cut a man in half.

She wished Malfoy would come out of this safely. As much as she dismissed what had happened between them, there was still a part of her that felt loyalty to him. Well, she might wish him all sorts of pain for what he'd done, but she didn't wish him dead.

His eyes followed the beast, a look of intense focus on his face. He must be scared, she surmised. It would be inhuman not to be. One of the men threw his spear at the beast, which it swatted away with a deep growl of annoyance. Another rushed forward behind it, sinking a spear into its flank and it wailed in anger.

Somehow they were going to kill this lion. It was unbearable to watch. Or it could be too strong and simply kill all of them. They probably deserved it if that were true. She focused her attention on Malfoy, wondering if he hated everything about this as much as she did. Unlike Voldemort, he didn't look like he relished this, wasn't performing for the audience. That was their purpose up here on the rock, to serve as an audience for Voldemort's bravery and magnificence.

Something else happened and the crowd winced. Hermione couldn't bear to watch. Another roar of the lion made her cringe.

"Don't worry, my dear," a woman said appearing next to her. She was elderly and Hermione didn't recall meeting her before. "The lion is as real as the mist you see around the mountains."

"It seems real enough."

"One cannot create what was never real. It is an illusion. It's claws probably no more real than mirage."

Hermione didn't know if that was true; she hoped so. Turning, she regarded the woman. "I am sorry, let me introduce myself, Lady Hermione Nott."

"I know who you are," the woman said, rheumy but wise eyes studying her. "Dowager Trewegen. Charmed." The woman's hair was gray, but elaborately dressed and she had large pearl hanging from her ears. "The liege seeks to convince us of his prowess," she said rather unimpressed. Hermione hadn't seen anyone so openly disparaging of Voldemort.

"He is a bit of a showman, I have gathered."

"A madman, more like," she said. "But we all must dance to his tune."

The woman was taking a risk being so open with what was a stranger, but perhaps she correctly assumed Hermione would not be passing things on, or she didn't care. She could practically see Malfoy warning her to stay away from people who thought little of exposing themselves as they tended to drag their friends down with them.

Hermione didn't quite know what to do. If this woman was inherently careless, an acquaintance with her could be very harmful.

"Take care not to be silly," the woman said, as if reflecting her concern. "With the friends you keep."

"I don't think I understand," Hermione's eyes said, following the woman's gaze to Malfoy.

"Don't think your interest in him hasn't gone unnoticed. More often than not, your eyes are in that direction." The woman touched her nose. Hermione had always hated that gesture.

"I can assure you I have no interest," Hermione stated emphatically.

"Good. The house of Malfoy has done yours enough harm as it is."

"What do you mean?" Hermione said and the woman sighed.

"If you were to look for a culprit, everything leads back there."

"Culprit. Do you mean my husband?"

"What else?" the woman said as if Hermione was daft.

"Are you saying Malfoy is responsible for my husband's death?"

"I am saying you need to be careful of who you make friends with here and what intentions they have." The woman shifted away through the crowd and Hermione had an urge to grab her, demand to know what she meant, what she knew, but that would make a scene and this was neither the time nor place for that.

Urgently, Hermione tried to recall exactly what the woman had said. The house of Malfoy had done hers enough harm, and in no uncertain terms had it been unrelated to her husband's death. Revulsion and horror washed over her, making her stomach turn. Had Malfoy killed Theo and then seduced her? Was this all some scheme, one she had fallen right into?

Hermione had to find that woman, get her to tell what she knew. This had to be uncovered—the duplicity, the carelessness. It was unbearable to think it could be true. Yet someone had killed Theo. The initial explanation that he'd simply died had never held stock. People don't simply die. Theo was in the best of health.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Hermione hadn't watched the victorious defeat of the lion, achieved to much cheer and relief. She hoped the woman, Dowager Trewegen, had been right about the lion, but then she was a perfect stranger, who apparently didn't care what she said freely. Could a person like that be trust? What agenda did she have in coming over?

Pacing in front of her windows, she tried to think through what she knew, what she believed and what was being pushed at her. Hearing Malfoy was responsible for Theo death had been an utter shock. She'd been repulsed down to her very bones for a moment, because her initial reaction had been to believe it. Did that say something, that she, for that initial second, didn't doubt what that woman stated was true?

As moments passed, she had to ask herself why? Why would he kill Theo? He didn't gain anything from it, unless he saw Theo as an obstacle, and dealing with his widow would be easier. But then also this woman, why had she cared? Was it out of concern or did she have some ulterior motive. If Hermione had seen a woman being seduced by her husband's killer, she would do the same, but Hermione had learned not to depend on people acting rationally or honorably here.

Taking a breath, she sat down on one of the sofas and stared out the window. As per usual, it was gray and windy outside. The weather didn't seem to change that much, as if it was unenthusiastic about what it saw down here. She couldn't blame it. Voldemort's world was nothing to be proud of.

What she had to do now was establish what was true and what not. Charging over to Dowager Trewegan's apartments and demanding answers might not be the best course of action. Maybe it would serve her better to gather a bit of information about this woman's past and integrity to see what kind of games she engaged in. If she was a game player, and the majority of people were, Hermione wasn't going to play. Then again, even if playing games, her accusation may well be true.

Demanding an answer from Malfoy would probably be equally useless. He would say no irrespective of what the true answer was. But perhaps she would let him know that the allegation had been cast and see how he reacted. She wasn't ready yet and would keep this under her hat until she knew how to proceed.

She hated that she had become just like them, twisting and using information to get what she wanted. But what was it she wanted? Her acquiescence to Malfoy had put a big stroke of confusion through her whole psyche, and for some reason, she had allowed that. She knew why. Because there was something about him that made her weak at the knees. But this was not the place or the company she could afford to be weak with. What she needed to do was find out who had killed Theo. That was her mission.

A missive arrived and she accepted it with resignation. What horror did Voldemort have in mind today? The answer surprised her, the antithesis of the day before, a tea party. Laying the invitation down, she sighed as a sense of dread built. Voldemort seemed to wrap his cruel intentions in pretty wrappers, so it was harder to trust him when he planned seemingly benign things.

But she supposed it would give her time to watch and observe. Both Malfoy and the Trewegen woman. One of them was guilty and she didn't know which. She also had to think if there was any other avenue of getting information. Perhaps the elves knew more about what went on in the citadel than anyone gave them credit for. They might even know who killed him, but it was hard to find them, and the ones she called refused to step outside of their role and purpose. There had to be some way of getting through to them.

-0-

The tea party had been set in one of the gardens Hermione hadn't seen before. It was lovely with weeping willows that caught the wind. So did the white table clothes over the round tables. Everything was soft and feminine, a stark contrast to the day before. Was this Voldemort's attempt at being inclusive? Or did he seek an antidote to the savagery of the previous day?

Hermione had chosen a lighter dress, softer in color and style. So had most others, and gone were the bold colors and rich satins. On the surface, the scene looked lovely—if you didn't know what this court was like. Couples floated around the grassy knoll, milling and chatting. Some had taken to wearing hats and gloves, dressing for the occasion.

Across the tables, she saw Malfoy, refusing to budge from his ubiquitous black. He was speaking to someone, looking relaxed and unperturbed. Was that the look of a person who had killed someone?

There hadn't been a mark on Theo, so he hadn't died of violence. Poison had been her guess, or perhaps magic. There had been no inquest of any kind. Such things were not a part of Voldemort's court, it seemed. This was a place of 'hear no evil, see no evil', unless Voldemort wanted to see it—justified or not. But if politics was the name of the game here, she would find some way to get justice, but Malfoy was strong and it would be hard to damage him.

There had to be a point, she conceded, where protecting Tabain was more important than justice. Theo would never forgive her if she harmed the family for the sake of justice, and Hermione loved him even more for that. Saying that, beyond her own security, she would do what she could to hold the culprit to account. With proof, if she demanded justice, it would prove hard to Voldemort to ignore.

Hermione sat down at a table with some of the more benign ladies. These women were survivors rather than players and they tended to keep a low profile. On a day like this, Hermione actually felt like having a chat and a mellow time, forgoing the brutal politics elsewhere. It also gave her an opportunity to watch and consider what to do. She didn't have a plan and she was not going to rush into anything—that was dangerous around here. Considered and meticulous was her enemy and so she would be in return.

Cakes were placed on the table in stacked trays. Everything looked delicious, small sponge cakes, tarts and slices. But when Hermione considered one, her stomach revolted, churning with nausea. She couldn't for a moment imagine putting one of them in her mouth. The episode was so strong she wondered if she needed to go seek some privacy. Her stomach rolled and she had to close her eyes. Even the smell of the tea seemed off-putting.

Nausea wasn't something she normally suffered from, unless she herself was being poisoned, but then she hadn't eaten all day. Her breakfast had been untouched, left and forgotten, and now that she thought back, she hadn't eaten at all. Perhaps it was hunger that was making her feel a bit shaky, but if she was hungry why couldn't she eat?

There was another possibility, one she didn't want to entertain—could perhaps be a worse outcome than someone trying to poison her. She'd had nausea like this once before, the reaction to food she normally loved—any food, really. Except apples. Apples she could tolerate, any form of it.

This couldn't be true, she thought as she sat there, dread and disbelief creeping up her spine. She couldn't be pregnant. It would be too cruel, particularly considering the person involved. Her stupid carelessness seemed even more shocking now. How could she have been so stupid?

"Are you alright, my dear?" one of the women asked and Hermione's tried to focus through her immobilizing shock.

"Of course," she said. "I think I have just forgotten something in my room. I should perhaps go fetch it."

"Yes, of course. These scones are buttery heaven, aren't they? Have you tried one?"

Hermione looked at the dense lump, seeing the fatty, thick cream and felt her stomach heave. "I'll just be a moment," she said, getting up and quickly walking toward one of the garden entrances. Out of sight, she started running, feeling like she needed to know immediately what was going on, that the thing she suspected wasn't true. It had to be something else, a stomach virus or something that would go away with a few days of rest.

She was walking without any particular direction, just needing to be on the move to somewhere. Finally her mind engaged and she changed direction and made her way to the cluttered and probably even dangerous chambers of Mr. Lovegood.

The man looked annoyed with her appearance, seemingly absorbed in some experiment. He ignored her for a while, perhaps hoping she would give up and go away, but her distress outweighed his at the moment.

"Mr. Lovegood," she demanded, feeling too raw to be mindful.

With a grumble, he put aside some contraption and acknowledged her. "Lady Nott. Out wandering again?"

When did she ever wander? She dismissed it. "Are you able to advise me in confidence?"

"That depends on the advice," he said, looking uncomfortable.

Hermione didn't know how to proceed. She could not have this man talking about this. If anything, this needed careful management—if true. Was it worth the risk to know now? It could be months before she had confirmation and she didn't think she could live with that uncertainty.

"I really do require confidence." She simply had to take the risk and hope he was honorable about this. "Is there some way you can tell if I'm with child."

He drew breath and exhaled. "Have found yourself in some trouble? Such things can be dangerous around here. Or is this something you planned?"

"Of course not," she said, offended, but perhaps not surprised. Maybe some people used such things as strategies. "In fact, it would probably be very bad."

Lovegood shifted to a cupboard and rifled through bottles, them clinking together as he sought what he was after. He found it, it seemed, and Hermione almost wished he hadn't. For a moment, a chance of 'no' seemed better than the risk of a certain 'yes'. But that was immature and cowardly. She was not someone who hid her head in the sand and pretended nothing was wrong. If she knew, she could plan—not that this wasn't one hell of a screw up.

Uncorking the small green vile, he held it to her nose and it smelled like decay and vomit. Her nausea flared violently and she barely contained herself from retching right there.

"I think the answer is definitely yes, my dear," he said, a bit more sympathy in his eyes. "I hope the implications won't be too harsh. I take it this is not joyous news."

It was terrible news and Hermione knew that her shock hadn't actually set in yet. It was still coming, along with the gripping need to go running along endless corridors screaming.

Drawing air through her nose, she steeled herself. This was terrible. She now carried what Malfoy needed the most, an heir. Luckily he had no claim over her and this child. Officially this child wasn't his. They weren't married and he could not force her. A marriage needed her consent, besides, he was already married—which was probably a good thing, under the circumstances.

The best thing would be if he never knew. If only she could go spend time at the estate. Perhaps she could once her condition was too blatant to hide. Until then, this was something no one needed to know about. "You understand why I need your confidence," she said.

"I do," Mr. Lovegood said and Hermione felt relief settle the worst of the panic she felt.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

It felt like the world had crashed in on Hermione, panic intermittently flaring in her mind. Most of the time, she wanted to throw her things in a trunk and simply flee. Actually, the things weren't important. There was nothing here she valued, but she couldn't because she would lose the things she did value. Fleeing would be the weak things to do. No, she had to be strong and face this.

This certainly was a setback, being pregnant to the man who had killed her husband. How could one possibly see that in a good light? She supposed it would be vengeance, having what he wanted most and refusing to give it to him—because she would be refusing. This child would never be a Malfoy.

The most political part of her knew she could use the child to get his protection, but his protection and cooperation was not what she wanted. She wanted justice. She wanted him rubbed into the dirt until he disappeared into nothing. That was perhaps a bit strong, but she wanted some consequences for these actions. She owed Theo that.

The accusation had been laid, but she couldn't be presumptuous. Who knew what that woman's motives were, the one who had accused Malfoy. It could be anything and Hermione was not going to be some pawn in someone else's game. The most clever operators made other people do their dirty work.

Which brought into question how her husband died and what had happened around that time. Was there a way of placing Malfoy in a position where he was culpable. Motive, opportunity and means. Those were the things she had to prove. She wasn't entirely sure what she would do when she proved it, but that was something she could consider when she had. Perhaps it would then be time to seek justice, in whatever form Voldemort metered out—which tended to be both brutal and fatal.

A frisson of discomfort washed through her. Could she watch Malfoy being tortured on the floor, flailing in agony, watch him being murdered while knowing she was the cause, the instigator? She didn't know if she could be so ruthless and callous, even if he had murdered the man she'd loved. It would stay with her for the rest of her days.

Dismissing the uncomfortable though, she turned her attention to the practical. She needed to learn what was going on at the court at that time. What activities were going on, what political maneuvers were in play. A bit of subtlety in her questioning might be advisable, so she didn't immediately give away that she was questioning her husband's death. But she needed some place to start. What she did know was that Malfoy had borrowed some books of Theo.

Grabbing a parchment, she wrote this down, as she intended to do with everything she learned during her inquisition. Information was power and she was going to gather her arsenal. If there was one thing she could do, it was to analyze the situation, get a grip on the picture. Then she could tease out the things she needed—motive, means and opportunity.

Unfortunately none were clear. Malfoy being a complete political animal was simply not enough. There had to be some reason. Perhaps he was making a move on Theo's lands, or more disconcerting, perhaps Theo was making a move on Malfoy lands. It could be that Malfoy was being defensive, although she couldn't see Theo being so aggressive. Then again, he was a member of this court and he had survived here—until he didn't.

After taking lunch in her apartments, Hermione searched through Theo's desk, trying to find evidence of any political overtures, but there was nothing. Either Theo was uninvolved with any, or he was too shrewd to write things down. It could be the latter. The written word was powerful around here and he wouldn't have been silly enough to think his study would be safe. The walls had ears and eyes.

Speaking of, was she safe here? Theo hadn't been. Poison had been introduced somehow and he'd ended up consuming it, or being stuck by it, or however it had been administered. The same fate could await her. Malfoy certainly knew where her apartments were. There had to be some way of making it safe. Could locks be trusted to keep people out? If things got difficult, how would she deal with it?

-0-

Hermione agreed to every invitation send her and went to each tea, lunch, soirée with the intention of finding answers. It turned out there had been some trouble with a courtier named Hennisby, which had ended quite ugly with the man being placed in one of the corpse cages out on the road. Something to do with inappropriately stealing property from Voldemort himself.

Even Hermione would acknowledge the man had been an idiot if he thought he could get away with stealing from the citadel. There had also been a ball on. Not a masquerade, but a ball to celebrate Voldemort's conquest of the realm. A gigantic ice sculpture had been commissioned and had melted all over the floor. There had also been some trouble in the south, some peasant uprising that Hermione had never known about.

More interesting, and also surprising, was that the House of Malfoy and the House of Nott had been in an informal alliance. Malfoy had certainly never mentioned this and it had obviously meant little as one had ended up murdering the other. But it did add gravity to the situation. Malfoy's alliances obviously meant very little.

There was no record of this alliance anywhere, but Lord Wildersmith had confirmed it. He'd also firmly warned her against considering anything of the type now. She assured him she was not. In fact, she was more motivated than ever to make a move on the house of Malfoy, wrench something away from him, even if it resulted in no gain for herself. Vengeance was her motive. Wildersmith appreciated her position, but advised caution.

Whether she believed she would make a move on Malfoy's estates, she wasn't sure of yet. She didn't have enough information to make a determination.

But she did learn of a purchase Malfoy had made around that time, although the details were sketchy. That purchase had to have a paper trail and that trail had to exist somewhere. She summoned one of Voldemort's clerks to her apartments, who looked uncomfortable when he turned up, wearing nondescript brown robes and a less than flattering haircut.

The archived, he had mentioned. All information related to purchases were in the archives. The youth slinked away as soon as he could and she got the feeling he didn't want to be associated or in the view of one of the courtiers. Perhaps she couldn't blame him as they were political and ruthless—pariahs in other words.

So there was an archive and she had made the clerk tell her where it was. Apparently there was a man responsible for it, to which requests could be lodged. Hermione could imagine that process would take months. It would also highlight to Voldemort, or maybe someone else unpleasant, that she was searching for information. Would the information be worth the attention?

After consideration, she couldn't think of a way around it. She needed the information in the archives—but she could do without the scrutiny. In fact, she needed to act with complete discretion. Voldemort, with his whims and preferences, couldn't be trusted. Could she risk breaking into the archives? She wasn't going to steal anything, like that Hennisby man, but she wasn't sure Voldemort would see a distinction.

It was an awful risk. Would Theo tell her not to? Would he rather let his murder go? Hermione wasn't entirely sure she could live with that, particularly as she was carrying that particular murderer's seed in her belly.

No, she had to do it. Pleading ignorance if she was caught might not save her, but it was a defense. How could she look her son in the eyes and tell him she did nothing when confronted with the man who had murdered his father.

After dinner that night, well past midnight, she would try to see if she could get into the archives. She made the determination before she thought too hard about it and working her concern up too high to go through with it. It was just something she was going to do without considering every reason why it was a bad idea. There were gaps in the information she had that only a trip to the archives could answer.

-0-

Hermione had considered wearing dark and free moving clothes, but decided it would look too guilty if she were caught. Instead, she kept her evening gown and stood around the corner, watching the guard to the archives door. He looked tired and bored. Surely at some point, he had to walk, or do something, go to the toilet, eat, anything.

If she had her wand, this would be a simple affair, but being caught with a wand would mean death. Her wand had been destroyed long ago, along with everyone else's. Particularly at court, Voldemort didn't like people having the ability to utilize magic against him. Only a few, like Mr. Lovegood were kept on, probably all feeble like him, too—no one too ambitious or sharp, who might get ideas of their own. Mr. Lovegood cowered under Voldemort's bullying.

If she had a dart with some tranquilizing medium right now, she could be in there already. It sounded nefarious, but it would be effective. Unfortunately, she had nothing of the type. She could potentially set fire to something. That would distract the guard, and potentially burn the whole citadel. She gloried in the vision of the whole macabre structure burning to the ground. Voldemort would make her death so painful she would beg for it if she did something like that.

Fire wasn't necessary, she decided.

Stepping around the corner, she appeared into view. "Young man," she said, although he was probably older than her. "I smell smoke."

The man didn't know what to do. He seemed hesitant.

"Should there be smoke in this part of the castle? I hope there isn't a fire anywhere. Is this structure designed to twart a fire? I hope we don't all burn in our sleep." She knew damn well fire concerns were not a top priority for someone like Voldemort. If this place burned, it would burn like tinder in many places.

"I will go see," he finally said, conceding that seeking a fire was probably more important that guarding stacks of paper. He ran past her, leaving the door clear.

She only had so long before he would return and she quickly snuck through the door. It was black inside, but she saw a lantern on a desk. Stacks of paper were jumbled everywhere, not looking much different from Mr. Lovegood's messy apartment. There was a musty smell and narrow corridors of stacked paper leading down into darkness. How in the world was she going to find anything in here? It would take ages. Whoever this man was in charge of the archives, he didn't have a very good system.

It took some time, but she did find a system after all. The citadel papers were in the front. Kitchen accounts, building accounts etc. The military records pertaining to the liege's army beyond that. Toward the very back of the archives were boxes for the courtiers. Fortunately, they were clearly labelled.

Hermione didn't know where to start. Searching, she found the box belonging to the Nott household. In there, were stacks of papers. There were observations made by someone, keeping track of the things related to the house and Theo's movements to and away from the citadel. There was also a list of the properties and assets belonging to the Nott estate. It wasn't overly detailed, just main observations. There was also a mention of the alliance between the Notts and the Malfoys, pertaining more to a non-aggression treatise, it had said. That obviously didn't stick, she though bitterly. Her more recent alliance with Wildersmith was also recorded. She was being tracked just like Theo had been. Fortunately, no mention of a pregnancy. They didn't know that, it seemed.

There was also a page on his death, suspecting poison. It didn't state who the observer thought was responsible, only that it was unexpected. That must mean that it wasn't on Voldemort's orders.

There was nothing else useful. Putting everything back, she sought the Malfoy box. She wanted to spend more time with this one, but she didn't have time. The guard would be back soon and she would have a hard time explaining why she was coming out of the archives. Focusing, she found the document which tracked Malfoy's movements, to see if there was anything recorded for the time Theo had been attacked.

The answer shocked her. It said Malfoy had been south, dealing with the peasant uprising. What? That couldn't be right. Malfoy wasn't there. He had left a full two weeks before Theo was murdered. Astounded, Hermione sat back on her haunches. He wasn't the murderer. Someone else was.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Malfoy wasn't the murderer, but someone was. And what was this alliance between their houses. It was obviously something he hadn't tried to preserve—unless their intimacy had been some way of establishing relations. He did after all have expectations of her loyalty, it seemed. She didn't know where she stood with him or what his real intentions were.

Thoughts jumbled through her head. None of them seemed to stay long enough for her to think things through. That was what she needed right now, a chance to think, but Voldemort had planned something by a pond somewhere, something else inane that they all had to comply with.

Feeling too raw and unready, she forced herself to dress and seek the place where the afternoon's entertainment was supposed to be. She dressed in white. There was a preference for lighter colors for these activities that were supposed to be innocent, like tea parties and picnics by the pond, or whatever it was.

Even some of the men wore white. Not all, of course. Malfoy did not, wearing the gray and black of dark, ominous clouds. Undoubtedly, he had nothing but dark colors in his wardrobe.

Along with his clothes, his face was solemn and serious as he walked through the gathered party. His blond hair was tied back neatly and he was heading somewhere, but Hermione didn't know to what.

Other couples had taken to boats which glided across the still, deep green water. This pond was new to Hermione. It was a lovely spot and she might return here again. No doubt it wasn't natural, being nowhere near large enough to be part of the lake that had at some point been around here.

Shifting his head, Malfoy spotted her, his eyes unreadable, but he didn't stop or in any way acknowledge her. She never knew what she would get with him. At times they were allies, at times enemies—at times lovers. Mere hours ago, she was ready to relegate all badness in this court to him, but he was innocent of this charge. Never innocent, but he wasn't culpable—or at least here when it had happened.

At one point, he'd assured her that he didn't know who was responsible. Perhaps he didn't. Still, the accusation had been laid quite clearly at the House of Malfoy. It could be a false accusation, but she couldn't find a gain for sharing it. That woman had nothing to gain and that made Hermione suspicious that it might be true.

As for the Nott-Malfoy alliance, perhaps it seems illogical that Malfoy would lose that willingly. He had recovered fairly well, still in one of the strongest positions out of everyone here. It was especially important for him to be in Voldemort's good esteem because of it. Astoria certainly seemed to have his favor.

Turning her gaze, she sought the woman in question, who had on a light blue gown, looking much too innocent for the personality contained within it. In fact, she looked haughty and arrogant to Hermione. Sharp eyes roamed the crowd as if she was looking for her next victim. The woman played stupid, insipid games—games of one upmanship, social inclusion and cutting remarks.

It wasn't real power around here, more flashy distractions, but plenty of people were petrified getting caught by it. The viciousness was without equal, but the harm was more or less superficial. At one point, Hermione had almost succumbed to it and the fear of being targeted.

Could the woman have been responsible? Why would she have done it? It went against the benefit of her own house. At no point had she come across any gained for the house of Malfoy because if Theo's death.

A small piece of information sat on her analysis board and it bothered her. Astoria and Theo had danced together at the Victory Ball the night Theo had died. Why? Why would they dance together? It was an innocuous little fact, but it stuck in her mind. Of course, Theo would dance at a ball, but why with her?

Shame washed over her as she acknowledged she wondered if there had been an affair between them. Never had anything like that occurred to her, but now she had to wonder. Was that the reason he had ended up dead. Had Malfoy found out and acted? No he wasn't here. But try as she might, and she'd spoken to everyone she could, she found no other reason. Someone always knew when a person was targeted and it leaked out, but no one seemed to making a move on the Nott house. With Astoria though, a certain vicious streak had been observed with her former lovers.

Grief and discomfort burned red on Hermione's cheeks. Had the husband she had loved and adored been unfaithful? She was better off not knowing if that were true, but if it had resulted in his death, she had to know.

No, Astoria would have flaunted the fact if it had been true, Hermione told herself. She wouldn't have been unable to stop herself from using that as a spear to cause pain. Her lovers were out in the open and the woman took pleasure in taking men off others. Murder might be a stretch, though.

Looking back at Malfoy, she saw him speaking to a group of men. He would know if there was anything between Theo and Astoria. It seemed utterly unconvincing to think Draco didn't keep tabs on his wife while he was away. He might not care what the woman did, but completely ignoring her activities would be careless as she tended to upset anyone she wanted to.

-0-

Hermione watched as Draco retreated to his apartments after the dinner that night. They'd eaten in a mirrored room, which had made it easy to keep tracks of people. That might have been the purpose of that hall, to see what people were doing behind your back.

Astoria had been flirting that evening, with some young man that Hermione didn't know, some woman visibly upset by it. Hermione had to wonder if Astoria chose her lovers according to the most pain and disruption it would cause. She was a despicable creature and she almost felt sorry for Malfoy for being married to her. According to his own telling, the bargain had been worth the later pain of the marriage, something Hermione simply couldn't agree with.

On later hearing, it is said that land she had brought was not massive, but strategically located. Astoria had come with wealth and connections, and a piece of land neighboring a much larger estate. Malfoy had taken that land and leveraged a takeover of the neighbors large estate. It was an ingenious move which had cemented his position in this court as one of the most powerful. The marriage had given him the leverage he needed.

Rising from her seat, Hermione decided to retire as well, nodding goodbye to her dinner companions. Malfoy was nowhere to be seen as she exited the hall to the corridor lit by candles every few meter. It made for a long walk back through darkened shadows and still spaces.

Instead of going home, she detoured to Malfoy's apartments, knocking on the door. He opened, looking more casual without his jacket. The surprise on his face was clear.

"Lady Nott. To what do I owe this pleasure, or are you accustomed to seeking gentlemen's apartments in the middle of the night? If so do come in."

Hermione didn't move, just watched him. "You told me you didn't know who killed my husband."

His expression didn't change, seemed frozen for a while. "Not the typical start to an assignation."

"I'm not here for an assignation," she said, her cheeks flaring red, because who could blame him for thinking so when he seemed to have his way with her when he felt like it.

"Shame," he said, stepping back from the door. "Well, if you wish to speak to me, you will have to enter the viper's den."

"Are you referring to yourself or your wife?"

The comment seemed to take him by surprise and he considered her for a moment. "Are we coming with knives to sink into my flesh tonight, or is it my wife you seek to harm?"

"I only want answers."

"It sounds more like you are demanding them. Whiskey?"

"No, thank you."

Walking over to a table, he picked up a glass of amber liquid and brought it to his lips, watching her as he drank. "You obviously have something on your mind, so ask away. I may not answer, but you can always try."

"To your knowledge, was your wife having an affair with my husband?"

"Feeling a little injured?" he said with a raised eyebrow.

"Is that a yes?"

After a while, Malfoy shrugged. "I don't care what Astoria does with her time."

"I don't believe you."

"You think I hold some resentment for what she does? Ours is not the marriage where there is any love lost between us. I thought we discussed this shortly before you availed yourself to me."

Hermione refused to be distracted by the accusation—whatever it was. "No, I think you keep tabs on what she does. I would if I were you."

"Would you now? Are you thinking you should have kept tabs on your husband?"

"Please just answer the question," Hermione said, feeling her composure threaten. Right now, she didn't want to be here sparing with him. This was more important than that. "I misspoke when I said someone had accused you of murdering my husband. In fact, they said the house of Malfoy was responsible and from what I can see there are two people in that household. You were away."

"My, Lady Nott. I think you have been snooping."

"Which leaves one member unaccounted for."

Draco's expression hardened. "You better be very careful what you say here," he warned.

Anger flared in Hermione. "You mean something along the lines of that bitch of a wife of yours murdered my husband," she said harshly. "Should I be careful about that? Do you expect me to cower?" Rage coursed through her now, directed at him for trying to warn her off. What was she supposed to do, look the other way? He really didn't know her if he thought that.

Draco didn't move, didn't change his expression or in any way respond to her venting. Finally, he did, putting the glass of whiskey down on the table. "Astoria's protection doesn't really come from me. Trust me I would have killed the bitch by now if I could get away with it," he said. "But power is power, and she, for all her faults, has her unique brand of it."

Hermione closed her eyes. It was nothing short of an admission. That awful creature had killed her husband. "What there an affair between them?"

Draco's sigh reached her ears, but she still refused to open her eyes, not wanting him to see the hurt that the answer would cause.

"From what I understand, Nott refused her advances, had done so on numerous occasions. She had quite a little obsession over him, fed by the fact that he was categorically uninterested."

Tears welled in her eyes, feeling her trust in Theo being vindicated.

"Don't be so relieved," he said. She could hear the amusement in his voice. "He was no saint, but he wasn't stupid enough to go anywhere near Astoria."

 _Unlike you_ , she felt like snapping out of hurt at what he was saying. "I don't believe you."

"That he was too smart to bed Astoria?"

"Don't be facetious. How can I believe anything you say? You told me you didn't know who killed Theo. You flat out lied. Why would you do that?"

Draco grinned and chuckled. "Because it serve me to do so." He shifted in his chair, seemingly making himself more comfortable. "You may believe as you wish," he said. "That is your prerogative."

"There will be consequences for her," Hermione stated. "I won't just stand by and let her get away with it."

"Then I would treat carefully if I were you. You will either upset me, as materially anything you do to my house impacts me, and I won't take that lightly. Or worse, you'll upset Voldemort. Either way, you will end up losing. Neither of us will serve you well as an enemy."

Hermione didn't quite know how to respond. She was practically telling him he was gunning for his wife, and he was right that he would be impacted by it. Still, she would get justice for this, and he might try to stop her. Fair warning on both sides, she supposed.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Hermione couldn't sleep that night. Her conversation with Draco kept running through her head, particularly the accusation that Theo hadn't been a saint. What exactly had he meant? That Theo hadn't been loyal? That he'd had lover here at court—except Astoria, who he had apparently been too smart to go near?

It hurt her heart to think so, to think that the marriage wasn't as she had thought it had been. This kept her tossing and turning all night, and by morning, she felt weak and dull, having to order a strong cup of coffee for her breakfast.

The weather never seemed to stray too much from windy and gray out her window. Clouds shifted across the valley creating a shifting play of shadows and light. Everything shifted and nothing stood still. Eventually everything she held dear was ripped out of her hands. Her marriage was something she had completely believed in, that they had loved each other and that they had been a team.

Malfoy had tried to destroy that. What was his purpose in doing so? She turned her thoughts to him and his motivation for telling her. Most importantly, was it even true? He'd proven quite clearly that he lied when it suited him. Did it suit him now to lie to her about Theo?

There had been a time, after all, during the masquerade, when he purportedly let his guards down, when he'd stated how curious, and even jealous, he'd been for Theo turning his attention so completely to his marriage. That didn't sound like a philandering man.

No, she could choose to believe what she knew in her gut and in her heart—that Theo had loved her and she had loved him. There might have been a time when he was younger when he'd been playing the games others seemed to here, but she trusted what she knew and what she felt.

Malfoy was lying and was trying to shake her. Perhaps because she had discovered that his murderous wife had blood on her hands, and that she needed to be dealt with. Could it be that Malfoy was moving to protect her and was stirring trouble and doubt?

She wouldn't put it past him. He had condemned himself with his own record.

Unable to eat much with her morning sickness, she paced around the apartment, trying to get some order to her racing thoughts. Malfoy had tried to deceive her, and even if his accusation was true, he was still trying to hurt her. There was no reason for him to deliver such a message otherwise.

It was time to hit back. It was time to act, time to seek some justice for the death of her husband.

Beseeching Voldemort directly was unlikely to be successful, particularly as he seemed to have some kind of soft spot for Astoria. Malfoy had confirmed that on numerous occasions. It would be a tactic that had intolerable risks of it all turning around on her. No, the best way to do this would be to make a move, a grab on his domain.

Malfoy would be absolutely furious and he would fight, and declaring war with him wasn't something she took lightly. He yielded power, but so did her alliance. Her need for justice was something he was aware of, and he understood that on some level.

Even though he'd lied to her, it wasn't him that she needed atonement from. Atonement was probably too ambitious to hope for, but she needed Astoria to be impacted. Frankly, to be hurt. Well, maybe someone like her didn't hurt exactly. Humiliation was probably what she feared the most. Hermione, however, was not prepared to play parlor games like that woman did, with cutting remarks and disdainful looks; she wanted something more substantial.

What she did need now was to talk to her alliance.

-0-

There were troubadours for entertainment that night, in inauguration of a new building Voldemort had added to the citadel. For some reason, the endless structures he'd already built wasn't enough, he relentlessly felt the need to expand, even when they already had too much to ever be useful.

The room was pretty, though, no expense spared, long velvet curtains, commissioned paintings and fine wooden floors. The troubadours performed their act in the center of the very large room.

No one actually paid their act that much attention. Voldemort's court was doing what it did best, plot, plan, scheme and gossip. Tonight she would participate in that.

Hermione watch the crowd. It wasn't a night for high drama, more a typical night. Voldemort was apparently feeling deflated at the moment, and the night reflected it. The troubadours, in their bright costumes, was trying to lift the mood, acting silly. Their act was a little too safe to garner much attention. More cutting material drew the liege's attention and admiration, but was risky as they could so easily upset him. His mood went from amusement to murderous intent in the flash of an eye. The consequences for these people would be severe.

This group was hoping that complete lack of offense was the best way to proceed. That had its risks as well, as Voldemort didn't like being bored. And he looked bored right now.

Spotting Wildersmith amongst the crowd, she started to walk toward where they would intercept. "Lady Nott," he said cordially. "I hope you fare well tonight."

"Of course," she responded.

"You look as lovely as a vision."

"Thank you," she said. "My vision has been in another direction, I must confess."

"Oh?"

"There's a bit of land I have my eye on."

Lord Wildersmith smiled. "We all have bits of land we keep our eyes on, don't we?"

"Not land as such, more a message I want to send."

"Knowing you as I do, I can only assume this land would belong to our venerable Lord Malfoy."

"How did you guess?" she said without an ounce of surprise in her voice. "I suppose my desire to take a bite out of his ego hasn't gone mentioned before."

"Enough to start an all-out war with the man? That could be destructive to everyone."

"You know full well that at some point we will have to face him."

"Doesn't mean the need to rush toward it."

"But at times, a small war can serve as a deterrent for a big war."

"There is no assurance that a war can be contained to small with a man like him."

"I think it can, because, you see, even he believes an assault on him is justified."

"Doesn't mean he will respond kindly."

"No, but I think that, along with a show of force, will temper him. He is too pragmatic to go for complete mutual destruction."

"I worry that your emotions carry you away and color your intentions."

"You mean the fact that someone under his protection murdered my husband?"

"You have proof of this? It is a heavy accusation."

"I have an admission. There is nothing I do here that colors my intention, Lord Wildersmith. I am fully cognizant of what I am proposing. I cannot accuse his house directly. There are influences that forbid it. I am not being unreasonable here, but I also want him to know that he cannot trespass again me, against us, and there be no consequences."

Wildersmith pursed his lips. He didn't like this, but he saw the quandary she was in, and she had depended on that. An alliance was only as strong as its weakest member, and if she appeared weak, then they all appeared weak, likely urging Malfoy to make a move of his own before long.

"It would be a considerable risk. There is little to stop Malfoy from escalating this, even if you think he believes it is justified."

"Yet, this forces my hand. I must do something, or I will appear too weak to do something as simple as avenge my husband."

Raising his hand, Wildersmith stroked across his cheek and chin, carefully considering what she was saying. "What do you have in mind when you say a small war?"

Hermione smiled, knowing she had him. He had more or less agreed. "A specific piece of land, actually. One of sentimental value more than practical."

"Perhaps we need to get the others together," Wildersmith suggested. He looked around and made a signal to Nigel Coxcomb and Lucas Bridgestone, who smoothly detached themselves from their conversations and came over. Wildersmith explained the crux of the situation to the two men who were the extended part of the alliance, and men that Wildersmith apparently trusted.

"Now the land," Hermione explain, "was a lot that came with the marriage bargain."

"Not traditional Malfoy land?"

"No," Hermione said. "It was very useful to him at one point, but largely symbolic now." It was the fact that it was Astoria's land that made Hermione interested in it. She didn't care about Malfoy land, she wanted this piece of land because it was what Astoria had brought into the marriage, the sum of the wealth she'd had. Malfoy had to bear the loss because he was harboring a murderer and that he'd lied about it. Malfoy would understand why this land, even if Astoria didn't, and on some level, she felt she needed to punish Malfoy as well.

"We might need Alfred Tilley for this to succeed," she continued.

"Tilley? What can someone like Tilley bring to the equation?" Lucas Bridgestone said dismissively, and he was right to be dismissive. The Tilleys, even in their wild hope that she would accept a proposal from them, had very little power of any kind. "Well, they do own the adjoining property," which was always a bonus in a land grab. Historical ownership and all those kinds of justificiations.

"Let's call him over," Wildersmith said.

The young man with a weak chin was both worried and excited about the company he'd been drawn into. There mere fact that he'd come to her with a proposal, showed that he or his family had ambition, although little means to attain it. This was a means, and he would either take it or shy away from it.

They asked Tilley to explain his lands and he blushed as he described their modest estate. And yes, apparently they had been there for centuries.

"Sometimes, Tilley," Wildersmith explain. "It is not how much you have, but that you do with it."

"I don't understand," Tilley said, swallowing hard. Hermione could see his Adam's apple bobbing with nervousness.

"See, we want the land adjoining yours, but you are the one with a credible claim."

"That is Lord Malfoy's land," Tilley said with horror. Hermione could imagine the Tilleys had been very nervous in Malfoy's shadow for quite a while. "He would destroy us."

"Not if you have a powerful alliance protecting you."

Tilley's gaze went from one to the next, trying to ascertain if they were serious and for a moment Hermione wondered if he was too scared to actually do it.

"Alfred," Hermione said softly, "at times, power has to be taken. Doing this would mean protection for you and your family by a powerful alliance."

"You don't live next door to Malfoy."

"No, but if you want to change your situation, this is how it's done."

"I will still have Malfoy land on both sides of me. He'll squash me like a bug."

"Doing so would mean moving against us and that would be something he would think twice about doing." Hermione hoped that was true. There was a risk that Malfoy would attack without considering the destructive consequences to himself, but Hermione didn't think so. He was too practical and pragmatic.

Tilley looked at each of them again, probably wishing he was somewhere else. But to his credit, he steeled himself, probably that gumption that had made him approach her with a proposal. "How can I claim his land?" he asked. His voice was shaking, but he wasn't backing down. Hermione did respect how afraid he was, but the young man was intelligent enough to understand that this risk had great rewards for him and his family.

"You simply move your cattle onto the land and claim it as your traditional grazing fields."

"I don't have that many cattle," Tilley said, looking embarrassed.

"Your herd just expanded. How many do you need?" Wildersmith asked.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

The day of their audience approached and Hermoine watched as people milled around the hall. It was like many such other days, except today they were making a move on Malfoy.

Lord Wildersmith appears, looking typical in his satin robes and engraved silver walking stick. Tilley walked nervously beside him, wearing darker clothes of less sumptuous material. His eyes darted around the room as if expecting an attack at any moment.

As far as they knew, Malfoy didn't know. They had taken extraordinary lengths at being secretive. Stealth was required in these things, so as to not give Malfoy time to plan a creative counter.

"Do you have it?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Tilley said, looking down at his feet, shuffling slightly between them.

"It will be alright," Hermione said, trying to assure him.

"Yes, it will," he said. "Or he will kill me." Tilley smiled awkwardly. He was brave doing this.

Hermione put her hand on his arm. "Don't worry. He will know this is my doing," she said.

Apparently that made Tilley feel better, but it didn't change the fact that Malfoy would know she was to blame for this. How he would retaliate, she didn't know. Obviously, he would do something, but she would have to worry about that later. Astoria's deeds had to be avenged and paid for. If she then had to battle Malfoy afterward, so be it. She was strong; her alliance was strong, and sometimes one had to do what one had to do to look oneself in the eye every morning.

Lucas Bridgestone appeared, taking his side next to Wildersmith and silence soon reigned in preparation for Voldemort's entrance. He never a man to slip into a room, instead his arrival had to be duly noted by everyone.

Hermione took the opportunity during the distraction to look at Malfoy, who stood on the other side of the room. His eyes were on their liege, dark and mysterious. She seldom had any idea what he was thinking. She knew he both loved and hated it here. Maybe it was just the fact that he thrived here. But today he would take a hit.

Her attention drew his eyes and he raised his brows slightly as if questioning her interest. "I'm sorry," she mouthed. She wasn't sorry, but she wanted him to know that he was not her main target. Malfoy's eyes narrowed and Hermione looked away to the liege who was taking a seat as his throne.

"We have a petition today," Voldemort said brightly. The man relished this part of his role, the infighting, and particularly any kind of vicious move within his court. They had lodged the request for an audience this morning. "Who is this petitioner?"

Hermione hadn't been aware the room could go more silent, but it did, as if every person in there held their breath. A petition could target anyone and someone was about to be targeted—although the person already knew.

She refused to look at Malfoy as Tilley was nudged forward. The man shook like a leaf and Hermione wished he was a little more collected, but that couldn't be helped.

"It is I, my lord," Tilley said. "Mr. Tilley, on behalf of my father, Lord Tilley."

"Speak up. We can't hear you." Voldemort looked around, expecting laughter and the court complied with muted chuckles.

"I ask that a piece of land be returned to my family. For some reason, it has been unjustly requisitioned by others while they have no right to it."

Voldemort looked around, ascertaining people's reaction. He didn't care, but he liked making a show of these things. "Go on."

"For indecipherable reasons, parties have laid claim to this land while it has always been ours. This land is and has always been in our use and we were unaware others had placed claims on it. I humbly ask that you clear up any confusion to other parties with regards to the rightful owner." Tilley bowed low, staying down for a long time.

"And you have proof of the ownership of this land?"

"Yes. It was deeded to our family by marriage back to the olden days."

A murmur spread across the room. Deeds to the olden days, the time before Voldemort had conquered all the lands, were slowing being put forward. Initially old claims had been ignored as Voldemort settled his sovereignty and assigned lands to his favorites, but the finer details of disputed lands were slowly being acknowledged, particularly for families within the court.

"Let me see this proof," Voldemort said and Tilley pulled out a parchment with a red ribbon around it. He handed it to one of the guards who handed it up to the liege. "This land is still in use?"

"Yes, our cattle have always graced it. It is land between the Shyborough river and the Coller forests."

"If I may," Malfoy said, stepping forward. "That is my land Tilley is petitioning for, and it belongs to me, gained by marriage deed from the Greengrass family. I assure you the land ownership is well documented and legally entitled." Except they had learned that it wasn't.

Voldemort looked up. "Mr. Malfoy. This is your land?" Voldemort smiled, knowing it was an extraordinary thing a mouse like Tilley standing up to take on Malfoy. "Young Mr. Tilley here seems to feel quite strongly that this was his land, and it certainly was part of _this_ marriage bargain, which supersedes yours by hundreds of years. I assume this marriage went ahead."

"Yes, it was the marriage between my great great grandparents."

Voldemort expectantly turned his eyes to Malfoy.

"The terms of my own marriage are well-known," Malfoy stated. "The land passed to me as part of it."

"But was it ever theirs to give?"

In her research, Hermione had never found any record of the gambling debt by which the Tilleys had lost the land to the Ruthledges, who then bequeathed it to the Greengrasses. There was apparently not trace of the transaction. All other Malfoy land would be well documented, even if under duress, no doubt, but this wasn't technically Malfoy land.

"Astoria?" Voldemort said, looking to her as she stood in the crowd.

She stepped forwards. "It has always been in my family."

"Apparently not," Voldemort said, holding up the parchment. "Unless you have some form of claim on the land, it is hard for me to dispute this deed."

Truthfully, Voldemort couldn't care less about justice and fairness; he liked to see people under his thumb. And Hermione had suspected he really liked seeing Malfoy challenged. Perhaps there was a part of him that was wary of Malfoy's strength and sought an opportunity to chip away at his power. Hermione had banked on that anyway, and she would soon find out if her gamble was correct.

Malfoy turned to Astoria as did all eyes in the room. There was little he could do as it was not his land. Everyone here had their documentation in order in case of challenge to their property and rights. It would be foolish to exist here without it, because anyone could lodge a petition. But in this case, the belief was that the land had been handed over as part of an undocumented gamble.

"Of course there is," Astoria said, clearly flustered. She turned around, seeking her cousin, who was in the audience somewhere. He apparently didn't step forward. It seemed that Lord Greengrass knew the ownership of the land had been a weak point, which was perhaps why they'd been so willing to let it go with her in marriage.

Malfoy looked murderous.

"It is my land," she said sharply. "It was part of my dowry. It's hardly my fault they lost it, probably just handed it over like the sniveling cowards they are. The Tilleys have always been spineless. They've lost every bit of their land. They can't come crying about it now."

Voldemort sighed. "That may be so, but when taking someone's land, even by force, it must be in writing. Just like the ruling I am forced to make now. Unless you can convince me otherwise, I must rule in their favor, and mine is a record no one can challenge."

Astoria looked both blustered and enraged. "It was my dowry," she said harshly, turning her narrowed eyes on Tilley. "And you will not mess with it, or I swear I will make you regret it, you useless worm."

"Tsk, tsk," Voldemort said. "We can't resort to idle threats." He was clearly enjoying this. For being one of his favorites, he did seem to enjoy stripping her land off her.

Astoria straightened and smiled ruefully. "It doesn't matter. He will just have to sign it over again. Won't you, Tilley?"

"Yes, I'm not sure young Tilley here understands the wrath he'd brought upon himself. These things do have a cost, young man." Voldemort chuckled.

"I suspect he knows perfectly well what he's signed up for," Malfoy said tartly, turning his gaze back at Hermione. "But yes, there are always consequences."

"In that case, you will have to battle out your grievances. The best of luck with that, Mr. Tilley. I rule in the petitioner's favor."

With that, it was done. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. Tilley was so spent from nerves he could barely stand. No doubt, he was questioning the sanity of what he'd just been talked into. Well, it wouldn't be too bad. Malfoy knew who the real culprit was. Astoria mightn't, but she wasn't entirely stupid. It probably wouldn't take her long to understand, hopefully before she decided to murder someone for this challenge to her. Perhaps it was time for the Tilley family to take a trip to their estate.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

What had been done, could not be undone and she had to face whatever consequences came. Her time here at court had changed and she was no longer someone sitting on the sidelines, but a fully-fledged player in the intrigues that happened here. And now she had a great, big target on her, and the most powerful, and some say vicious, member would now be gunning for her.

It all sat uncomfortably, but it had to be done. The perpetrator against their family, their house, had been dealt with. She just hoped Malfoy was amenable to see the necessity of it. Probably not, but that couldn't be helped. Her alliance was strong and together they were protected. Malfoy was too pragmatic for an all-out war.

The whole idea of Malfoy sat uncomfortably with her. Not to mention the fact that there was a very real tie between them, one she had to keep secret. Taking some of his marginal land was one thing. It was largely a symbolic gesture and meant very little, but taking his heir from him, which was of supreme material concern to him, was quite another. Malfoy needed this heir, but over her dead body would she lose her child to him. There would be all-out war if he tried.

In this place, the real play behind the events yesterday would be buzzing around the court and even Astoria would soon hear that Hermione was the true initiator behind the act. Depending on how stupid the woman was, she would likely figure out that Theo's death had just been avenged. Perhaps it didn't bring about the suffering the woman deserved, but it was enough for Hermione. She was not about to spend more time thinking about the woman. In fact, she had much bigger worries now.

It was time that she started preparing what she had to do to hide this pregnancy. It would be some time before she was showing to the point where questions would be raised. A reason for returning to her estate had to be created and implemented—something that looked unforeseen and natural.

This child could not be raised under the Nott name and would be safer thus, considering its true heritage to be kept secret. On the estate, that would not be a problem. With the number of people living on the estate, an extra child could go unnoticed. It wasn't ideal, but she saw no other way.

As much as she hated to conceded it, a husband would perhaps be a solution, someone who would free her up to spend time with her children, but unfortunately, any husband strong enough to face life at court naturally had an agenda that served some house other than the house of Nott.

It would be too big a risk. She would be at the mercy of this person and couldn't guarantee that they had her children's best interest in mind. No, she dismissed the idea.

The idea of a plague entered her mind and she laughed, something that would require her to go home and make her unwelcome back at the citadel for a good amount of time. A sickness on her estate would also keep others at bay. Who wanted to fight for a diseased piece of land? Really? Wasn't inventing a plague a little outlandish? Absolutely, but it might also work. She would actually have to give her ludicrous idea some thought.

There was still time to plan, and she was going to spend some time thinking everything through.

Pacing the room, she wished her stomach would settle. This constant nausea was getting really tiresome, but there was little she could do about it. With a child in her belly, she didn't trust any potions. She wasn't entirely sure she could trust any food at all, in case Astoria decided to seek her revenge in the way of killing she liked—poison.

Perhaps she had to start getting her food straight from the estate, rather than the kitchens here. The evening functions were alright, because it would be impossible for Astoria to distinguish her food from everyone else's and Voldemort was so paranoid, the food he consumed was triple checked for poison.

Tonight, was a night she particularly wasn't looking forward to. The night after the one that was, the one when she'd attacked Malfoy. Astoria might go in with the insults, but Hermione didn't really care. What Malfoy would do was more of a worry. Perhaps it wasn't a night to go off on her own. Although that hadn't helped the last time Malfoy had been upset with her.

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, competing with the nausea as she prepared for the evening, dressing in a darker gown. It seemed appropriate and for some reason she felt more protected. Darker gowns would also help later when she became a little round. Darker, matte material hid such things nicely, until it got too extreme, when hopefully she would be called home to deal with a spreading sickness that needed quarantine. The idea really was growing on her.

Leaving her apartments, she made her way to the evening's festivities, but she didn't get far as when turning a corner, she was confronted with Malfoy standing in the middle of the hall, his hands clasped around his back. He wore his severe black as usual, his blond hair tied back in a queue. He was obviously waiting for her, having guessed her route. She should have been smarter than this, than taking the most direct route to where she needed to go.

Stopping, she surveyed him, making out little from his expression. He looked calm as if going for a stroll and having stopped to observe something of tolerable interest, but she guessed that belied how he felt.

"Malfoy," she said, slowly moving closer. It wasn't as if she was going to turn tail and run. The run-in with Malfoy was inevitable and he apparently wanted to have it sooner rather than later.

"Lady Nott," he said, his voice crisp and sharp. Again, it sounded like she had just stumbled across him going for a stroll, although his stance showed he'd been waiting.

"You would have done the same in my position," she stated.

"We both know that's not true. But this makes everything more interesting as you've now moved against me."

His eyes pierced her and she had trouble keeping eye contact, feeling an urge to look away, but she swallowed her discomfort held herself straight. His hands let go of their grasp and moved slowly. For a moment, it looked as if he moved to touch her, but changed his mind. Anger or something else simmered through his features, before the expression was wiped away.

"You understand why I did it," she said, hoping he would be reasonable.

His eyes regarded her, having returned to their cool state. There wasn't any emotions in them now, certainly not the anger she'd seen the last time she had upset him. This was a different Malfoy. They were enemies now. She knew that instinctively. Whatever friendship, or whatever twisted form of lovers they had been, was over now.

"I do understand, but I cannot leave it be. Someone who has moved against me, even if for the reason of moving against Astoria, will have to be brought down. There will be consequences of what you've just done. I just haven't worked out how yet."

Which meant he hadn't managed to work around her alliance yet.

"I suppose there is no use in asking you to let it go," she said. "My quarrel was never with you and in light of the crime, it wasn't even on par."

He didn't answer for a while, just stood there watching her. "But you did involve me. It was my land you took." He chuckled. "You know you're the only one who has dared take land from me," he said, almost disbelievingly. "Now everyone is watching. I couldn't even avoid retaliating now even if I wanted to. Such a move cannot go unpunished. And let's be clear: I have no intention of letting this go. Can't have people thinking they can strip me without there being consequences—grave ones, too."

"Naturally, I will have to protect myself."

"Naturally. But then I am a lot better at playing this game than you are."

Any sinking hope that Malfoy would be reasonable evaporated. He understood exactly what she had done, but he wasn't prepared to forgive her for it. Much of her resources would have to be spend on shoring herself up against him. It may even put her plague strategy at risk as he didn't care. He was out to hurt her.

With a last lingering warning in his eyes, he stepped away from her and walked away. Hermione watched him go. The worst part was that there was still a part of her that felt such heady desire for him. But it had always been wrong; it had always been dangerous. Desire would not get in the way of his vengeance, and it could absolutely not be a distraction for her. This was war.

After swearing profusely along the way, Hermione found the hall where the evening's entertainment was. Malfoy was there, his back to her, talking to someone. Who was it? How could he leverage them?

If he'd wanted to make her paranoid, then he'd succeeded. Holding herself high, she walked toward Lord Ackerley. If she had any chance at succeeding in this, she had to harden her nerves. A big part of his game would be playing with her nerves and she needed to be stronger, unflappable, cool and analytical. That part wasn't a problem; it was more dealing with the fact that someone was definitely, and openly, coming for her.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

It was inordinately difficult to avoid someone in the citadel as they were called together at various points during the day and night. Hermione took some time to clear her head by walking in the garden, unable to escape the fact that she was in fact in view from the Malfoy apartments.

She missed Tabain and needed to put some thought into her plan of faking an illness on her estate in order to return home. The difficulty was that Voldemort had spies everywhere so it really did need to look like an illness.

If only she could just walk up to Voldemort and lament that she didn't want to be there, pack up all her things and go home. If only life here was so easy. What had Astoria done to be sent home for a good few months? Nothing was being said about that, but she had displeased Voldemort. Or could it be that Voldemort knew that she had murdered one of the courtiers?

Now that she thought about it, she wondered if that was the case. It also meant that Voldemort knew and the justice served was that Astoria was sent home like a naughty child. The liege could not be depended on for justice or vengeance, it seemed. At least she had been served a harsher punishment the other day, although nowhere near what she deserved. The problem was that Hermione was not of mind to actually inflict violence in return. It was not the kind of person she would allow herself to be.

The skies were gray and the wind howled relentlessly, as if the universe was angry at the infestation that Voldemort and his world order was. It was a ludicrous notion, but sometimes it felt as if the universe disapproved of what was going on down here.

Sitting down on a bench, she tried to regroup. She could feel the child taking root inside her, the pouch that could be felt, but not yet seen. In time, it would grow larger and larger. It was a luxury to be joyous about another child joining her family. No doubt, it would be a troublesome thing, just like its father, but she would love it until it was a happy and contented child. Provided she was given the chance. Wringing her hands, she tried to think of all the things she needed to achieve in order to make that happen.

Happiness was in short supply. In fact, she saw none of it here. Even a pause in the pressure of this place would be nice. Taking on Malfoy meant she hadn't bought anything of the kind, in fact, she had probably ratcheted it up and he was now actively plotting to retaliate.

It was harder and harder to see a good outcome coming her way. It was now a matter of surviving the next day, then worry about the one after. That was her life now and she needed to learn to find calmness and balance in the moments in-between.

Perhaps she could find some way of bargaining with Malfoy once he calmed down. He was a pragmatic man after all, or at least she hoped so. The one thing she would not bargain for was this child. He cannot know about the child, because he would take it. There was no doubt in her mind. He would rip it out of her grip and hide it away, made to take on the mantle of his much needed heir.

She also couldn't give into Malfoy and align herself with him, because Tabain would be lost in the process. Malfoy cared nothing for upholding the Nott estate. If she didn't guard it, he would absorb it and Tabain would be pushed out. And Hermione would not have the bargaining power to avoid it. Accepting Malfoy's protection came with the price of giving up the Nott estate. A price she would never pay.

-0-

The evening's entertainment was nothing extraordinary, a cards tournament. They were all gathered in one of the halls, tables strewn across the space with people either playing or milling around. It was the perfect event for gossiping, a multitude of fans covering conversations, eyes darting around the room.

Still feeling slightly morose, Hermione wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone, least of all any of the sharks circling the room. Malfoy sat playing cards with some of the other gentlemen. She did not pay attention to whether he was good at it or not, but she assumed it suited his disposition well. Cards had never interested her.

A crack brought her attention and she saw Astoria standing not far away, her fan deployed to announce her arrival. She wore her hair elaborately with a large, light-blue silk gown. Jewels hung around her neck. It seemed Astoria had gone all out with her appearance that night. There were even pearls in her hair and what Hermione would say was a self-satisfied smile on her rouged face. Her eyes sparkled with malice.

Obviously, Astoria had some cutting remark she had been planning all day long and she was just about to deliver it, which would no doubt result in some shock and laughter from the watching audience. Sarcastically, Hermione thought she couldn't wait to hear what the woman was prepared to insult her with.

This was how Astoria conducted warfare, snide remarks and social disgrace. It was no longer things that worried Hermione. It was not where the real game was, but not all understood that.

With her skirt swaying, Astoria advanced, Pansy and her sister at her side.

"Hope you're finding you well this evening, Lady Nott," Astoria said sweetly. "Not playing? Not much for placing your bets on the table?"

"It is not a game that interests me."

"No, I'm sure not," Astoria said. "But then some like to place their bets in other ways."

Hermione wished she could just walk away, but Astoria's purposeful approach had garnered attention.

"Some like to do their scheming in other people's bedrooms. Shocking, isn't it?" Astoria's eyes glittered with malice.

Did she know about Hermione's missteps? Had Draco told her? Her eyes traveled to him, but he was still focused on his cards, seemingly uninterested. Were husband and wife, so discordant otherwise, aligned in their attack on her? No, Malfoy would not be hiding in the shadows, he would still be showing his approval as barely perceptible smugness, but he seemed uninterested in his wife's antics.

No, he would not have told her. Astoria wouldn't be here regaling the tale if she herself was the victim. Bullies never portrayed themselves as victims and she wouldn't like the rift in her own marriage publicly acknowledged, even as every person in this room knew. Perhaps she was trying to suggest that it was she who had pushed Tilley to rebel against Malfoy by way of bedroom antics. That would be mildly embarrassing, but it ultimately meant very little to Hermione. Or was it someone else she was accused of sleeping with?

Hermione didn't know what to say, how to diffuse this situation that Astoria was obviously intent on. But a bully only backed off then there was a bigger bite to worry about. Stepping closer to the woman, they stood toe to toe. "No one has turned up dead following my misguided attention."

It was an unfiltered accusation and Astoria knew it. Hermione was warning her that there were much bigger crimes to discuss it need be. The woman's jaw was set stubbornly and her mouth pursed. "Simple conjecture."

"But then, people are so very interested in the truth," Hermione warned.

Astoria stepped back, inviting as much attention as she could. "As if anyone would believe the words of a cheap harlot."

The room had quietened and eyes were drawn their way.

"Don't think it hasn't gone unnoticed," Astoria accused, making a show of it. "The little touches to your belly, the constant need to excuse yourself when you're looking a bit green around the gills. What's the matter, feeling a bit nauseous? Don't think we haven't guessed. It's obviously."

"Don't," Hermione warned with as much seriousness as she could. This couldn't happen. Hermione had been adamant she'd done a good job hiding it.

"All these subconscious cues. Can't hide those."

"Don't do this, Astoria. I beg of you."

"Nott's little harlot has got herself with child. Been creeping around bedrooms of this castle offering herself, hoping for favor." Astoria was exceedingly enjoying this, the vanquishing of an enemy.

Hermione's eyes shot to Malfoy, who sat at the table, the card he was laying frozen above the table. There was absolutely no hope that he hadn't heard that. Even if not, it was mere minutes before everyone heard the sordid tale. While no one else did, he knew whose heir she was carrying in her belly. Slowly, his cool, gray eyes shifted higher to pierce her with their intensity. Her secret was not secret anymore.

"Out of wedlock, too. How many of your bastards are we to have running around the halls? Do we really want someone like that around, who is trying to entrap the guileless male members of this court to better her position? We don't really want people like that around, do we?"

"Astoria," Malfoy warned, but Astoria didn't care.

Astoria looked pleased as punch, while Hermione felt her world falling apart. No, it wasn't over. He had no claim on this child. They were not married and this child was officially exclusively hers and he had no rights whatsoever. It was incidental that he was the father.

All eyes were on her, watching for her reaction. What was she supposed to do? Deny it? It would be a fruitless thing considering she actually was pregnant and everyone in the entire citadel would be watching for the signs of it now—and they would appear. She could pick up her skirts and run from the room like she wanted to, but that would be weak and she could not afford to be show weakness.

Pulling herself together, she straightened her spine. "Any relationship I have with any member of this court is none of your affair."

Astoria laughed, a tinkling sound that seemed to echo off the walls, comfortable in her victory. Yes, she had scored an important point, but this story was much more sordid that Astoria knew and she may well have opened a much larger can of worms than she had intended.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

Hermione was growing tired of pacing, her feet ached and she wanted to rest, but her mind wouldn't let her. Thoughts flittered through her head, most of them refusing to settle and it was the same thoughts over and over again and there were no answers. Her secret was out. Well, not all of it, but Malfoy knew all of it—the most shocking part of it.

No doubt the court was abuzz with gossip about her and who the father was. People would be making all sorts of assumptions. She dreaded to think who people were aligning her to. Astoria was probably making it worse, flinging her accusations to anyone who would listen, with as much malice as the woman could muster.

She also dreaded to think of what would happen if the all knew Malfoy was the father. What would the implications be for her alliances? Would they see Malfoy having a claim on her and make it too difficult for them to continue with the alliance? There were no answers to these questions.

And there was no point going to whatever the entertainment was scheduled that day, there was little her presence would achieve. It might actually stir things up. Her absence would perhaps add weight to the idea that she was in fact pregnant, but then she was, and was there any point in denying it? She would probably look more of an idiot if she denied it and it in fact proved true, which it eventually would.

Crazy scenarios ran through her head, desperate attempts to try to hide the pregnancy and child. Maybe even claim the child was stillborn, but the suspicion would always be there. She would never escape it, or the spies.

It wasn't just Voldemort that had spies, other houses did too. Malfoy, no doubt, did. For all she knew, she perhaps did herself but didn't know about it. It could be some man turned up one day and imparted a whole slew of information that Theo had tasked him to gain.

No, her secret was out and she had to readjust herself to the idea. Her plans had to change; she just didn't know what to yet. She was nowhere near having a decisive plan.

A knock sounded on the door and Hermione froze. It could only be one person who would come knocking on her door at this point. Worrying her lip, she wondered if she should pretend not to be here, but this off to some other time—maybe some time when her thoughts weren't racing madly around her head and she'd found some balance.

Then again, her worry about what was going through his mind was prominent in her head, a large chunk of the uncertainty that dogged her every step.

Moving over to the large entrance door, she took a breath and pulled it open. As expected, Malfoy stood on the other side, looking calm and collected. This might be easier if he was livid, but he was not. It was rare he lost his cool and not even this seemed to ruffle his feathers.

"You've been keeping something quite material from me," he said, his eyes piercing into hers as if trying to see the honesty of her words. He didn't trust her and never had. Perhaps he was right not to. She owed him no allegiance, certainly not any that would harm her own house.

Was there any point in denying it?—claim that perhaps she didn't know it was material to him? If she claimed there was some other man in the picture, he would certainly go and find out the truth. Dig, persuade and hound until he knew everything. How far he would go, she wasn't entirely sure. Did he have limits in getting what he wanted?

No, there was no point in lying, and she wouldn't feel proud of herself for being so cowardly.

"Come in," she said and stepped back.

"Yes, it does appear we have some things to talk about."

"I wouldn't go that far."

"Wouldn't you?" he said and stepped inside her apartments. It was strange having him there, as if he was intruding into her sanctuary. He wandered slightly, taking in the things around her. "You are carrying my child—my heir."

"No, I am carrying my child," she stated. Her mouth was dry. She hated everything about this conversation, but it had to be done.

"Are you saying I am incidental to it?" He turned and watched her, his cool gray eyes taking her in. There was always a part of her that felt she didn't have the needed defenses against him.

"Yes." Hermione met his eyes without flinching. It was time to make her position clear, even if he throat felt tight and dry, and all she wanted to do was push him out the door and lock everything and everyone out.

A half smile crossed his lips. "Then I guess we have found our point of contention, Lady Nott. I will very much have this child."

"You have no claim to this child. We are not married. This child is a bastard and will be a member of the house of Nott, and will remain so."

Malfoy shifted his head as if assessing her statement. "You think you can keep this child from me?"

"I know I can. Your involvement with this child is completely irrelevant."

"But then you know full well that I need an heir," he said in a lower tone.

"Not my child."

"It is the only child I have. I intend to claim it."

"Then I will fight you."

"There is no need, you know. As my heir, his future would be assured. Are you right in consigning this child to poverty, to no influence in this court and land for the rest of his life? Is that the sign of a good mother? As my heir, it wouldn't be a bastard with no place in this world."

"There is more to raising a child than wealth. As the mother of this child, it is my duty to protect it."

"Protect it from its sire, from its rightful place in the world?"

"From people who wish it harm."

"I can assure you that I would never wish this child harm."

"Could you say the same for your wife?"

He remained silent and didn't lie to her about the threat Astoria would pose to the child. "I am more in need of this child than I am of my wife."

"Are you saying that you would rid yourself of your wife for an heir?"

"An heir is my primary priority."

"And you expect I would give my child, my child, to the most cold, calculating man in existence? I would rather the child die than to allow it to go through life without love."

His sharp eyes turned to her. Was it his turn to lie, to say he would love the child. Love was not something he professed capable of and they both knew it. The entire idea of opening herself up to him, letting herself be seduced by him seemed utter insanity now. She had been weak; she'd wanted him, even knowing he wasn't capable of love. He'd even been proud of that fact. Maybe there had been something stupid in her that believed her love would change him.

"You are clearly capable of having children. You must find some other way of having another." Even saying it, her heart ached for this poor child, whoever it ended up being. It would not be hers.

"It will be easier for all if you are cooperative in this."

"Well, I am not and I never will be."

"There is a great deal to gain from aligning our estates. If you insist on being irrational, we can come to a compromise. You can raise the child, love it as much as you deem it needs."

"I also have another child, the current Lord of the house of Nott."

"Who could be very powerful in conjunction with his brother." Malfoy wasn't looking her in the eye, which proved he wasn't entirely sincere. No, he was too ambitious to give such a lucrative prize as the Nott estate away. No matter his short-term intentions, eventually he would claim the estate. It had been his objective from the start, and Hermione suspected he couldn't help himself in the end. Brotherly love was not something that featured in Malfoy's life and he would have defeated his own brother for his own gain if he'd had one. Draco was raised to fight and to do whatever it took to get ahead, to promote the interests of his family. Sharing was not part of that agenda. Winner takes all.

It was not the environment she would allow her child to raised in. Bargaining the child's soul for wealth was not something she would consider, even as she knew Malfoy would never understand her objections.

She had to protect this child, and she had to protect Tabain. They would be raised as brothers, supporting one another. Malfoy would never comply with such a vision and agreeing to something with him would be like letting the fox into the hen house. No doubt, he would promise all sorts of things, but he couldn't change his nature.

Malfoy could see her decision and determination in her eyes. He smiled. "Then we will fight." He placed down the small statue he was holding. "Which leaves me in a bit of a quandary because I must also protect you. Physically, I cannot have anything happen to you, and my wife will definitely be a threat when she finds out. So will likely others when they find out, because they will know that your resistance will eventually crumble."

"If she or they finds out."

"Eventually they will. Astoria might be mad, but she is not stupid."

"Are you going to tell her?"

Malfoy shifted, his attention traveling to the paintings on the walls. "No," he finally said. "I have nothing to gain by telling her." That was it with him. Everything was calculated for the benefit it provided to him and his estate. He cared about nothing else. Had Astoria been completely mad before she had been married to him, Hermione wondered. Did his coldness create her? Even as she said it, she knew there was also something else, a craving for intimacy that he let slip only on the most rare occasions. But she knew now that he would never give himself over to it. There was a duality to him, but the cold predator would always be the stronger part. Mostly because he believed that to be right. "You must have a guard. I will provide your food supply. You can't trust anything in the kitchen."

"And I should trust you instead?"

"No one is as motivated as I to ensure you and the child survive this pregnancy." His back was turned to her now and they were speaking of simple logistics. "Promise me you will trust only the food I provide you, even at the dinners and events in the citadel. You cannot trust any of it. Astoria is a particular fan of poisons," he said bitterly, "and she will try to eliminate you."

"I can provide my own food."

"I would trust my food supply more, because I can assure it is not tampered with, even from the spies that no doubt crawl around your estate."

She hadn't considered that she couldn't trust the food from her estate. It was unlikely that Astoria had such reach to perform sabotage on her estate, but Voldemort certainly did. Was Voldemort motivated to take Astoria's side in this? If that was the case, she might actually need Malfoy's protection, which she seemed to have whether she wanted it or not—except when it came to him.

She was now in the curious position that he was the only thing she needed to worry about. He would keep all other threats away from her, as much as he was capable. It meant she could shore herself up against him and the claim he had to this child—a claim was wasn't legal.


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33

Whispers followed Hermione wherever she went. Her unconfirmed pregnancy was the topic on everyone's lips, although no one was uncouth enough to blatantly ask. No since the first day she'd shown up had she felt quite so isolated and watched, but there was nothing she could do about it.

Hopefully, the interest in her would pass eventually. If she continued to not declare who the father was, they would stop talking at some point, surely. Or then every move she made, every person she spoke to, was now fodder for speculation. Well, this had to be borne, there was nothing else for it.

After thinking it over, she'd decided that it would only harm her if she ran away. Nothing would change. Her belly would grow and then one day a child would be born. She would keep it here for a while, nurse it until it was strong enough to be sent to the estate. The dowager Lady Nott was a kind woman and Hermione had no qualms about leaving her children in the woman's care, but she missed Tabain every single moment.

Everything felt uncertain and up in the air, but was it really so? It was time to review.

What she wanted was to spend more time at the estate with her children. It was a fairly simple goal. Everything else didn't matter. It might not seem achievable, but if she expressly knew what she wanted, she could work her way toward that. Oh, and she was absolutely not going to lose this child to Malfoy.

He perhaps understood how far she would go to protect her children. Over her dead body was she giving her child up to him, and she was prepared lose the entire estate before that happened. It wasn't her problem he needed an heir. That was _his_ problem, and this child was not going to be raised in that environment simply because he needed someone to fulfil that role.

Pausing in front of the large, ornate door, she took a deep breath. Another evening in Voldemort's court. Giving a nod to the pages, they opened the door to the hall. There was music playing, string instruments playing slow and mellow tunes. The hall was set up with tables and chairs. There was some kind of performance on tonight.

As she entered, all eyes turned to her and the murmur of conversation quietened. Lord Wildersmith stood by one of the tables. Since Astoria's declaration, she hadn't spoken to him and didn't know if this had impacted on their alliance. With them stealing Malfoy's land, they knew Malfoy was gunning for her, but probably not how especially motivated he was. Then again, Malfoy taking her estate would leave him stronger and more powerful, and he absolutely did not want that.

Malfoy stood on the other side of the hall, his eyes following her as she progressed into the hall. She didn't look over, not wanting to see in his eyes if he had worked out whatever leverage he was looking for to twist her arm to his bidding. His very presence emanated. She could feel his strength, but for if he pressed too hard, he would lose this child completely.

Voldemort sat on his throne ahead, his eyes on her like everyone else. He clearly knew what everyone else knew. The child in her belly was a move in the game that was their existence here, and Voldemort was the wildcard, the one who could change the rules any moment he felt like it. To him this child was really just some half caste bastard. It could be of no interest to him other than what it meant in the game and if it changed things.

Then there was Astoria who was sniggering in the corner with Pansy and some of the other ladies, dressed in the finest silks available. Her face was made up beautifully. It seemed she had made particular effort tonight—expecting another victory perhaps. That gleam of malice was still very much sparkling in her eye.

Out of the lot of them, she hoped at least some of them didn't mean her harm. Malfoy would not allow any physical harm to her—anything that threatened the child she carried. Wildersmith hopefully had concluded that keeping the alliance was the only thing he could do, or else invite Malfoy that bit closer to him. She was the buffer. Voldemort—who knew? At this point, there was no reason for him to venture in, at least not until someone made a move that changed the balance of power in the court. Balance was the key.

Wildersmith and Voldemort would want to keep the status quo. Technically, he wouldn't want Malfoy to move on Wildersmith and becoming even more powerful in the court. His games all revolved around the fact that no one single house was all powerful, certainly not enough to threaten his position as entrenched leader. Malfoy would have to clear Voldemort before taking her out. All this kept things in balance.

Then there was Astoria. She was the one that would be a problem, the one who would continue to cause problems until she was dealt with. If not for her, this situation could find an equilibrium. In this game, the one with the least amount of power had the loudest voice.

Attention soon drifted away from her arrival and people started talking amongst themselves again. She wasn't actually in the mood to talk to anyone this evening. It had an express purpose, one she didn't relish but had to be done. It was also one she didn't quite know how to achieve. Somehow she needed to get Astoria to back off.

The smell of food made her stomach lurch. Everything smelled so very intensely right now. Things she normally didn't mind turned her stomach, but just at the moment, there was little her stomach felt like tolerating—and that wasn't just the company, unfortunately.

At least with her pregnancy, everyone would understand if she retired early, which might be a small silver lining in a large, dark cloud. It might make her the topic of speculation, but it also gave her an out. Not yet though.

Milling around the room for a while, Hermione watched Astoria, who watched her back. It was time to deal with her, and ideally without the woman knowing all the details. Astoria have very different expectations for how this evening would play out, and one of them would win.

Hermione couldn't help but to question if this was the right thing to do. Was she trading in a lesser evil for a worse one? It was impossible to tell.

Predictably, Astoria approached as Hermione had left herself alone, and hence vulnerable, in Astoria's books.

"Feeling a little under the weather?" Astoria asked. There wasn't an ounce of kindness or sympathy in the woman's bearing.

"Actually, I am starting to feel much better," Hermione said. In a way, it was true. All the tumultuousness of the last few days was settling and she had a vision of a new equilibrium, if only Astoria would stop causing waves.

Astoria's eyebrows arched in surprise. "You don't seem to mind being the topic du jour. They're all wondering who the father is. Are there wedding bells in the future? That if you got yourself topped by an unmarried man." Astoria winced, but her eyes were piercing, searching for a clue in Hermione's expression. "Thought so," she said with amusement.

"He is married, actually."

"Oops. So just a useless little bastard, then. How embarrassing." Astoria looked pleased, because she had new gossip to divulge, and Hermione wouldn't put it past her to shout it out right now.

"But these things get very complicated."

"They're always complicated," Astoria said with faux pity. "Especially when you make yourself look like a fool. Your late husband would be turning in his grave."

Anger seared through Hermione. This woman felt no qualms about what she'd done. "I admit, it was certainly not planned, but it has eventuated and we must all deal with it as best we can."

Astoria stepped a little closer. "Some missteps actually sink you."

"Astoria," Malfoy's deep voice said calmly and Astoria looked over at him with surprise. Hermione hadn't noticed him moving closer. Whether she wanted him to or not, he was her protector.

"Some missteps have consequences for a lot of people," Hermione said.

The woman's look of triumph faltered slightly as she looked between her and Draco. The pieces were falling into place, and it had been Malfoy himself that had initiated this by stepping in. Hermione had wanted to make allusions rather than blatant statements, but he'd rather bluntly announced that he was involved with this.

"You filthy whore," Astoria hissed. "What exactly do you think this achieves for you?" She turned her attention to Draco. "You think in a million years he'll grant you a divorce?" she said indicating to Voldemort. "Think again." Her attention turned back to Hermione, there was steel in her gaze, full of unbridled hatred. "You think you can threaten me, you mudblood whore?"

"I'm not actually," Hermione said. "I actually have no interest in you, or taking your place."

Astoria pfft. The woman obviously thought Hermione had done this to usurp her position.

"I have no interest in threatening you."

"You couldn't if you tried."

"But if this becomes known, they," Hermione said, indicating to the people in the hall, "they will make certain conclusions about your relevance here—no matter what I do. They will naturally conclude that the House of Malfoy had the heir it needs, and your position is no longer viable. They're actually already saying that, and that was well before a potential heir was even a possibility. I never have to say a single word."

Astoria looked around the hall. Her confidence wasn't as foolproof now. It was them that she feared, their opinion.

"Oh, but if something happens to me, like it did my husband—"

"You have no proof whatsoever," Astoria snapped. "Your husband drank poison of his own accord, trying to escape the revolting marriage you had somehow tricked him into."

"—a personal letter will be send to every single person in this court. They will have to decide what proof is needed."

Uncertainty stole into her eyes again. If there was one thing Astoria understood, it was public opinion and the power it had. To Astoria, it was power. Speculation about Hermione's pregnancy now was a danger to her. It would destroy her if this all came out.

"I think we are all motivated to keep everything the way it is," Hermione said, hoping Malfoy didn't step in right that moment to ignite everything, trusting he was too calculating and pragmatic to do anything rash. "Because we don't want this situation to become untenable for anyone, requiring anyone to take bold steps to protect themselves and their families." It was a clear warning to Malfoy and she hoped he understood the entirely of it. He narrowed his eyes slightly, but he said nothing.

Releasing the breath she'd been holding, she walked away. The message had been delivered to both of them. Her head and feet ached, but she felt hope—hope that she had managed to find a new equilibrium. At the least, she hoped she'd bought herself some space. She felt faint, but happy with what she'd achieved that evening.

Wildersmith nodded at her as she approached and she braved a smile. It wasn't exactly right that he was the pin that held it all together, but he was an important part of this convoluted web that kept her safe. She was the pin, the cornerstone that kept an archway from collapsing. Everyone was wrapped up nicely, too tied to move.


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

Pale, vane sunlight bathed the garden, making the dewdrops sparkle. The air was cold and the wind had its usual chill. Hermione tucked her shawl tighter around her shoulders. The tension from the previous night was slowly receding from her body, but wasn't entirely gone yet.

Walking slowly, Hermione breathed the clean air and enjoyed the stillness, this space of nature where she could imagine herself away from this awful place. It only provided moments of escape, but they were moments she treasured. Memories of Tabain and herself in the garden returned and her heart ached for him.

It might actually be time to return to her estate for a while. With recent developments, she might actually be secure enough to go. A whole month perhaps. Even with everything she'd achieved, she wasn't sure she could afford to stay away longer.

A crackle sounded behind and she whipped around, seeing Malfoy approaching. He looked out of place in this garden, or perhaps that was because he was so very far outside of what this garden represented to her.

As before, he walked down the other side of the long, rectangular pond. His entrance to the garden naturally left him on the other side, and it was unnecessary to take the time to walk around.

"Quite a coup, Lady Nott," he said as he stopped in front of her on the other side of the pond. "You are to be congratulated. You have tied us up very nicely. Wildersmith protects you from me, and I even protect you from my murderous wife. Even Astoria, in certain ways, protects you from the court in general. You have roped us all into protecting you."

Hermione couldn't deny it. Effectively, she had twisted this landscape into serving her purpose.

"Was the child part of the game?" he asked. Hermione's eyes widened, astounded he could even think so. "Because if it is, you are playing a much longer game that I have even given you credit for."

"Are you asking if I seduced you for the purpose of becoming pregnant? You obviously don't know me at all. It was not," she stated. "In fact, nothing I did was as calculated as you make out."

"Then you just naturally manipulate everything to suit yourself."

"Maybe things simply fell into place," she said, knowing it sounded too ridiculous even to her own ears. "I had to watch out for me and mine, that's all."

"No, apparently, I watch your back for you. Some would even say that is genius. You've tied my hands, even as I need that child. You have used my own needs against me, used them to establish a cordon of protection around you—in conjunction with my actual enemy."

"Are you referring to Wildersmith or your wife?"

Draco smiled. They were at a standstill and they both knew it.

"I need that child," he finally said.

"You're saying you want what is most precious to me in the whole world, the person I would burn everything in this world to protect." It might sound like an outrageous proposition, but she could see in his eyes that he didn't doubt her. "I would trust you with my heart before I trust you with my child."

Malfoy's eyes studied her as if he was trying to decide how to proceed. She'd be very disappointed with him if he professed he could seduce her. Well, he was probably right, but that didn't budge the wall around her heart. It hadn't in the past.

"We could join forces and work together. Your son keeping the Nott estate and this one having the Malfoy."

"It will never be in your nature to not seek the Nott estate. You will tell me what I want to hear as long as you have to, but you will never feel any true loyalty to Tabain."

He huffed with frustration. "Your speaking of a toddler."

"A toddler who is the future of the Nott estate. I can't let you in. You will destroy him. That's your nature. And it is my nature to guard against you."

"Maybe you should have a little more faith in me."

"I can't afford to have faith in you. Besides, Voldemort would never allow an alliance between us—even disregarding whatever attachment he feels for Astoria. One I don't understand. Why does he protect her?"

"Her mother, before she died, used to be his lover—probably the only woman he ever cared about."

"Astoria is his daughter?"

"No, but he feels some residual loyalty to her."

Hermione snorted and closed her eyes. "The real reason you married Astoria."

He didn't deny it. It only confirmed that he'd told her the things he wanted her to know, rather than the truth. She'd been a game to him all along, and still was. Somehow, he'd gotten tangled unexpected by his own machinations and now found himself bound. That had to burn.

"I am never going to be stupid enough to trust you. In a way, I wish it wasn't so, but I actually know you too well to think differently."

"Why do you wish it wasn't so?"

"Don't start," she said sharply. "For some reason, I care enough about you to not wish you any harm, but I will never trust you and I will never act against what's best for my children for you. And I will think worse of you if you so much as try to make me."

"You're doing it again, trying to tie me up, insisting I am acting against you if I act for my own interests. You've put me in a position where you punish me for doing what is best for my family. How is that fair, Lady Nott?"

"Yeah, well, fair is not something that is important to either of us."

Silence reigned for a while.

"I think your time here with us has changed you, Lady Nott."

"My objectives haven't changed from the moment I showed up." Neither had her morals or the things that were important to her. In fact, she couldn't quite put her finger on what had changed. All her actions had been defensive. Alright, most of her actions. Taking Malfoy's land had been vengeance. "I am leaving for a while, returning to my estate."

"As much as I hate to say it, because I am ultimately saying this in your interests and not my own, but it is probably a good idea. Astoria will have no reach there."

Hermione couldn't help feeling sorry for him, even the position she had placed him in. There was a part of her that would wade across this pond if he wanted, needed and could accept her love, but that wasn't him. Yes, he was curious about it, in some hidden place even ached for it, but he was too much a predator to change. Maybe the part she would never forgive him for was that he had turned her into a predator, too.

"I'm going to go now," she said, looking down the length of the pond. "I wish you well."

"Not well enough to win."

"No."

She started walking away.

"I won't stop trying," he called.

"I would be dumbfounded if you did."

Throwing a glance at Malfoy, she saw he wanted to argue, perhaps claim that he was changing in some way, but couldn't bring himself to proclaim it. If there was one thing she wouldn't tolerate from him, it was lying. He would lose whatever access he had to her if he did, and he knew it.


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter 35

Tabain's hand in hers, Hermione walked across the lawn on the south side of her manor, toward where the family graveyard was. A beautiful spot surrounded by trees and a small fence. Her son had grown in the time she'd been gone, representing the family at Voldemort's court. He'd grown a little taller and much heavier, feeling it when she picked him up and put him on her hip. They spent as much time together as possible, feeding the fish in the stream, surveying the farm animals, even walking around the forests where a fungus had been observed by the caretaker.

That fungus, along with a truckload of other things, had to be dealt with. Countless decisions had been put off until her return and she'd been overwhelmed with the things that needed doing. It meant this period had involved much more work than she'd anticipated, but that couldn't be helped.

Stopping by a tree, Hermione crouched down and plucked off the leaf that had become stuck on Tabain's jacket. His cheeks glowed pink in the cool air and he was clearly excited to be outdoors, even if the weather wasn't welcoming. Puddles had formed along the walkway, and Tabian was eager to explore them.

"You are to have a brother or sister," she told him with a smile. Tabain looked at her, but she knew he wasn't completely understanding what she was saying. She tucked one of his dark brown curls behind his tiny ear, felling a rush of love for him. "Someone to play with. Won't that be great? They'll be very little and you have to be very careful, be a good brother and protect them." It might a role he had to take on for all his life, protecting his sibling. But this sibling could be his strength as well. Family was important and expanding it couldn't be a bad thing.

The dowager hadn't been thrilled when Hermione had informed her about this pregnancy, particularly as there would be no marriage accompanying it. It had also been difficult to explain that it wasn't a disaster and that they were actually in quite a good position at the moment. Hermione didn't go as far as to explain the details around how this child came about, the momentary lapse where her loneliness had recognised its ilk in another.

The dowager lamented the option on the forests, but it had been a price worth paying for the alliance they had in return. Granted, the revenue from the trees would not come their way, but power was more important. It wasn't something the dowager readily understood.

"Come," she said and rose, taking the small child's warm hand. "Let's say hello to your father."

The small graveyard was well maintained. It was perhaps the one thing the dowager kept a very close watch on as most of her family was now residing there. Hermione hoped she would never be in a position where she lost a child. As much as Hermione grieved the loss of her husband, the dowager's grief knew no bounds.

This respite would be over soon and Hermione had to go back to court. It had all gone by too quickly, a few moments of sanity in a world that seemed to have to little of it.

Her objective was simple: to keep everything just the way it was. She had her enemies captured and restrained through her alliances, threats and machinations, and all she had to do was keep the status quo. That would be easier said than done as they would seek to get out of the hold she had them in. It would also be wise to pay attention to anyone else who might seek to take advantage of the situation. At the same time, staying out Voldemort's attention. But stability suited him too, and if anyone had people tied up in knots and unable to move, it was him.

Even thinking of going back made her stomach twist in discomfort, but staying wasn't an option. She had to be strong and she had learnt that she could be.

Walking up to the newest grave. Theo's name was written in bold letters on a brown marble stone. It was so unfair he was here, buried and fading from their hearts. As much as she hated it, he was fading from her, the details of his smile, the familiar touch. She'd been holding onto the memories so very tightly, using them to give her strength.

She missed having someone to talk to, tell her troubles to, but it had now become apparent that Theo hadn't done the same with her. He'd kept his life at court hidden from her and she knew it had been to protect her from the ugliness of Voldemort's entourage. But in a way, she felt he should have trusted her enough to handle him confiding in her. Instead, he'd kept everything about what happened at court from her, and she couldn't help feel a bit cheated.

With Tabain, she would have to raise him to survive in such an environment. He would not be an innocent thrown into that place, would instead know the ins and outs of political strategies. Together, they would spend time understanding each house, their alliances and strengths. And if she could help it, he would not have to face that court alone.

Until that time, she had to keep their enemies from their door, even by strong arm tactics if she had to.

Tabain didn't understand what the grave meant and found a branch to play with.

"I hope you are proud of me," she said quietly, talking to the large stone in front of her. "Perhaps not of the moment of weakness." That need for company, for communion with another person had led her astray. She couldn't afford that and couldn't let it happen again. Still, she could not bring herself to regret the child.

There was nothing but emptiness in reply. He wasn't there when she reached out and it hurt to reconfirm it. Each day, he felt more and more distant from her.

The stillness around them stretched. It was too wet for most people to be outside and dark clouds were threatening on the horizon.

Taking a deep, slow breath and exhaling, Hermione's eyes roamed over the script of Theo's name. Astoria didn't understand how much she had taken from them, from Tabain who would not remember his father. The dowager, whose grief would never lessen. And from her, who would never know the comfort of her husband's touch again.

True revenge would probably never be an option. It would mean taking on both Malfoy and Voldemort, an action that would likely destroy their family. The dowager wanted revenge, but Hermione knew it was something they had to give up on. It lessened the blow knowing that someone like Astoria would never understand. She would never understand a concept like justice or retribution. She would never claim her own responsibility.

"Mommy, mommy," Tabain said, wanting her to watch him jumping on the branch again and again. Hermione smiled as she watched him. His life was so simple. The world was his to explore and the people around him loved him. That was how the world should be. How had they managed to turn everything so wrong?

"It will rain soon. We should head back. Maybe we'll sit in front of the fire together and read a book this afternoon. Maybe cook will give us some of her gooseberry jam cake." The affairs of the estate could manage without her for a few more hours.

Tabain ran ahead and jumped in a puddle, the muddy water splashing up his legs.

"Maria will be angry with you if you come back covered in mud."

"Pigs, pigs," he said, indicating he wanted to go see the pig pen. He liked the pigs because they were curious and came over to greet him. Especially now that one of the sows had piglet, who ran in and out of the pen, never venturing too far from their mother.

"Alright, but only for a few minutes."

-0-

It was heartbreaking having to step into the carriage and start the long journey back to the citadel, but she couldn't afford to be away any longer. Ensuring her position was stable, she could probably return home with more regularity.

Moving further away from the estate, she felt the tension return to her shoulders, creep up her back and settle in her very bones. There was nothing she was looking forward to returning to Voldemort's capital. The endless evenings in his company, fearing his rages and moods above all else. Fearing the people around her secondarily.

She particularly didn't want to see Malfoy. In this time away, she still hadn't managed to figure out a way to deal with him, but his objectives had not changed. He wanted this child—needed the child. While she had been recuperating, he had, no doubt, spent him time scheming how to get her to relinquish the child he seeked to claim as his heir. And every day the child grew in her belly, a child he cared nothing for but for what the child could do for him. He wasn't capable of loving, and she refused to let her child be the pawn in someone's game.

Unbidden, the carriage trundled closer and closer to the citadel, through mountain ranges and vast valleys where crops were managed by the people Voldemort had conquered when he took this land—her people. Their situation had not improved, but from what she'd know, it had not grown worse either. There was no strength left in them, no one to fight their cause. Voldemort had been careful in removing anyone who could challenge him, and spies did his bidding in every corner of the land. Then again, no one had true strength. All was as Voldemort wished it to be, the families of his court scrapping over his favor and whatever privileges he metered out.

Eventually, the citadel came into view, it's soaring tower, built one on top of another, grown into a behemoth and sticking out like a cancer against the mountains countryside around it. It was still a long road to reach it, but with each turn of the carriage wheel, she felt her unease grow.


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 2

It felt alien walking into one of Voldemort's grand halls again, all dressed in fine silks, jewels draped around her neck and wrists. Armor, it was, as wore everyone else. It felt as if she'd escaped, but had woken up from a dream to find herself in the same horrible place.

The room sparkled with candles, great swathes of red velvet framing all the windows and the darkness outside. There was to be a dance that night in honor of some milestone she didn't entirely understand. So many different things of Voldemort's conquest of the land were celebrated—the fall of towns, the slaying of rebel leaders, not to mention the ultimate victory.

Supposedly most of the families here were a part of that victory, fighting alongside Voldemort, although he took all of the credit. In a sense, he was responsible, but there would likely not have ever been an invasion if Voldemort hadn't decided he wanted to conquer all of the land and make himself supreme ruler. Only someone insane would ever have conceived of the notion, but he had the charisma, or leverage, to make people comply with his grand visions. Plus he could burn anyone to the ground with a lazy stroke of his wand. It was unfair someone so nasty had so much power, but then he'd dedicated himself to garnering power, hadn't he?

It was a funny thing, power—something Hermione was herself leveraging these days. It was effective, but it always had a bitter aftertaste. Speaking of taste, the worst of her morning sickness had passed and she could eat again. Noxious smells still troubled her, as did some of the perfumes in the room that evening.

Eyes turned to her as she stepped into the room. The same old players as before. She bowed her head to Wildersmith, the prominent and most powerful member of her alliance, who bowed back.

Astoria's face looked drawn as if a bad smell had appeared under her nose. The woman was not happy and Hermione knew full well she was the reason. But there was nothing Astoria could do as she couldn't afford for the news to get out with regards to whose baby Hermione was carrying.

Likely, there had been endless gossip about it, every possible contender examined and evaluated. It wasn't a secret Hermione saw any benefit in revealing. It would only give credence to Malfoy's claim on the baby, and that was not something she was going to let happen. They would just have to gossip away. She was never going to confirm anything.

Short of murdering his wife, there was little Malfoy could do. Even if he did, she would never consent to marry him, particularly if he was prone to murdering his wife to get what he wants. No, as he had accused, she had him caught in her web, and it was a situation that lessened the pressure she felt.

Still, she absolutely did not want to be here, dwell in this insane court. She might have the power at the moment, but it wasn't a position that particularly gave her any delight. This was a world of necessities. And Voldemort's swings made this a dangerous place for everyone.

She approached Lord Ackerley, who was, in the scheme of things, a harmless acquaintance as far as Hermione had ever seen, and someone she had known before coming here.

"Lady Nott," he said. "It pleases us to have you back."

"It is a pleasure to be back and to see everyone so finely dressed." It wasn't, but she had nothing else pleasant to say about being in this company again.

"Quite a bit has happened since you went away."

"I am sure it has," she said, feeling tension in her shoulders. She knew nothing stood still here, but equally knew it might be good news as well as bad for her situation and standing. "I have, of course, been completely unaware of any goings on in the court."

"That is careless of you," Ackerley chided.

"No doubt you are right, but there is so much that needs doing around an estate, so many things that need seeing to."

"You are not wrong there," Ackerley said, almost a bit admonished, which made her wonder what the Ackerley estate was like. Many of these people had to depend on their wives to run their estates for them, while others managed them from afar.

Hermione looked around the room, trying to pick up any tensions or moods. Her eyes settled on Malfoy, who stood on the other side of the room. He looked the same, darkly dressed and somber. He noted her attention and unguardedly stared back for a moment before raising his glass in a small salute.

There was always a special kind of tension when their gazes locked and Hermione looked away. Her main adversary. He wasn't done with her, was still searching for some way to sink her, although his interested had now shifted to the child in her belly—his potential heir. How different this all would be if she could trust him, but she knew she never could.

"So, what have been some of the big events?" she asked Ackerley.

"Well, there was quite an incident, a move if you will, where young Alfred Tilley made a grab for part of the Rosenbaum estate."

Hermione's eyebrows rose. The young man that she'd pressed into helping her exact revenge of Malfoy and his wife was taking the reins and pushing further for his own betterment.

"He succeeded, too. Made him the talk of court for a while. The Rosenbaums have gotten much of their wealth by squeezing the less illustrious member of the court, so no one is exactly feeling sorry for them when they lose out to their own strategy. But the boy has made an enemy and he is perhaps a bit liberal in doing so as Malfoy is still gravely displeased with him. If you ask me, Malfoy is waiting for him moment, preparing to strike."

Unfortunately, Hermione knew Ackerley was correct, even as she was the one responsible for the move on the Malfoy land that Tilley had initiated. Malfoy was still going to exact revenge on Tilley for having done it—pressed or not. But the Tilleys were now a part of their alliance, so Malfoy would be taking them all on, which he would eventually, when he'd found a means.

Hermione hated being back here, longed to be home on the estate with Tabian. There was also a drawback about the position she was in, in that she was now simply waiting for people to make their moves against her. And not just Malfoy or Astoria; the rest of the court had to be watched as well. There were pockets of power and some of them might cooperate and coordinate an attack.

There were also a few new faces and Hermione particularly noticed a woman standing close to the stage where Voldemort sat on his throne. She could only see the woman from behind, but she had her hands clasped around her back and Voldemort's attention was on her. The woman's dress wasn't the finest in the room, was actually quite modest.

"Who is that?" Hermione asked, discreetly indicating.

"Oh, now that is interesting. That is Madame Gwenoch. Arrived in court shortly after you left, a widow like yourself. Negligible estate, but Voldemort has seen fit to allow her entrance to court, and she seems to court his attention at every opportunity. I don't think she has had any success with her pursuits, but I would hazard a guess that the woman has lofty ambitions."

A sinking feeling infected Hermione's stomach. As far as she knew, people Voldemort were interested in sometimes ended up dead. In the time she'd been here, she hadn't seen anyone purposefully court his favor, but then he'd had lovers in the past. He wasn't a man to share power thought, so if this woman sought to make herself queen, she would probably find herself in a less than tenable situation.

Ackerley continued in a bored tone. "She will be powerful indeed if she succeeds, but many have gone down that path before her and few of them manage to stay around for very long."

"Has anyone warned her?"

"Warning the ambitious is rarely more than a waste of breath," he said dismissively. Hermione turned to him. Did he not recall the whole family that had died before their eyes because Voldemort had suddenly taken an interest in their daughter? Or did he not care? Hermione supposed in an environment like this, it often served to see to one's own survival. If others presented themselves as cannon fodder, that was their foolishness.

On the other hand, Astoria Malfoy still garnered Voldemort's favor based on his affection for her late mother. There were gains to be made by being his favorite, even if the repulsive thought utterly turned her stomach. What some would do for power knew no bounds.

Ackerley went on to talk about some other overtures, while Hermione kept her eyes on this woman. It never boded well for those that drew attention to themselves. She hoped this woman knew what she was doing, but she also knew that there was true and real desperation in the land and this woman might be pursuing the only course available to her. For now, Hermione herself was not in the same boat.


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37

There was something in the air, something unpleasant that had Hermione's hackles up. She felt it the moment she walked in the hall. Someone was making a move and she felt certain she had to be on her guard today.

People watched her as she entered the hall, dressed in a new dress that had been delivered—red with black detailing. It wasn't her style and she wasn't entirely sure why she'd ordered it. Then again, none of these dresses were her style, so one over another didn't perhaps matter.

What she couldn't make out was if people were watching her as per normal, or if there was something particular that had spread through the crowd. It was hard to tell.

Hermione decided to head toward Wildesmith. He would not mince words if there was something coming her way.

"Lady Nott," he said.

"There seems to be some excitement milling around. Any ideas why?"

"Yes, there has been noise of some discord, but few details have been mentioned."

"Would we have heard more if it was any of us?"

"There have been no pricks on our spider's web, but these things are often done with stealth. Malfoy does tend to be a silent operator that pounces when he's ready. He does look pleased with himself, doesn't he?"

Turning to seek him, Hermione found him further into the room. Whether he was pleased or not, she couldn't tell. He looked his typical self, his hair tied back, looking calm and arrogant, bored even. "Perhaps he has found a weak point to leverage." It was hard to think what as all members of their alliance had their business tied off very neatly, but sometimes, things came out of the blue.

Voldemort appeared on his throne, flaring his grand robes as he sat down, giving himself a regal air. "I understand we have a petition today," he said excitedly. The room quietened.

Malfoy stepped forward and Hermione felt her insides clench with nervousness. Malfoy was making his move. He'd finally found some means.

"Lord Malfoy," Voldemort said, looking pleased with the day's prospect. "Please state your petition."

Malfoy stood for a moment. "My house requires the settling of a debt with the House of Verchose."

"Verchose? I see," Voldemort said. "A historic debt, is it?"

Hermione felt discomfort tingle along her body.

"You promised me that money," Malfoy, Lord Verchose said, stepping forward. "You're breaking a promise to my family."

"If you had the assumption the debt would never be recalled, Lord Verchose, you are very much mistaken," Draco said coldly.

Hermione didn't know who to believe. They both sounded earnest, but then would Malfoy give money and not expect something in return? Or had he gotten it and now simply wanted the money back?

"Is there a contract for this debt, Lord Verchose? You have in your response already admitted it," Voldemort said.

Verchose's mouth drew tight. "It was a gentlemanly agreement."

"Then like gentlemen, we will settle it," Voldemort retorted. "How much was this debt?"

"One hundred fifty thousand galleons," Malfoy stated.

"It was nowhere near that."

"I am sure you must have recalled that interest would be taken."

Verchose had gone red in the face, quickly pacing back and forth. Beads of sweat was appearing on his forehead and his collar was looking uncomfortable. It had to be awful to know you were in Malfoy's sights and that he was in the process of pouncing. Hermione could only feel sorry for the man, but who was stupid enough to take a loan from Malfoy?

"Have you got such a sum to repay?"

"I do not," he finally said, his shoulders slumping slightly.

"Oh dear, that is a problem," Voldemort tsked, clearly enjoying this. "But then neither of you come with any particular proof of the terms. As we have established the debt already exists. You are making it very difficult for me, Lord Malfoy. Hard to tell heads from tails here."

"Then perhaps we can make it easier. In lieu of payment, I will be generous to Verchose and only take a lease on some of his lands. Ninety-nine years on his easternmost property, including all chattels."

"Is this acceptable to you, Verchose?" Voldemort asked.

"No," he said emphatically.

"I think Malfoy here is being generous. It is not the sum of your lands and you will still in effect own it."

"In couple of years, he will forget all about the lease."

"Are you saying a judgement in my court will not stand the test of time?" Voldemort said, a hard edge to his voice. Verchose had painted himself into a corner, saying something Voldemort could take offense to. Verchose was probably right though and Malfoy would take the land as if the lease didn't exist, but Voldemort and his thin skin has ventured into the argument. Or perhaps he did it to watch Verchose squirm. "I think it is a fair resolution and I grant the petitioner leave to use the land and chattels as he sees fit."

Verchose wanted to say something but was smart enough to hold his tongue. The man was however part of an alliance and they would now have to retaliate of Malfoy, which Malfoy would know full well. Perhaps he was strong enough to resist them. But Hermione suspected this move was about her. The land he had just 'acquired' was next to hers and he was moving to get closer. Discomfort flared up her spine. Then again, being that they shared a boundary, she had everything tightly documented and agreed between her and the Verchoses. It would be difficult for Malfoy to leverage that land to take hers.

"Any other claims this day?" Voldemort said. Hermione held her breath.

"There is a secondary issue," Malfoy said, which meant he had another move to make, one that would likely be against her. "I seek to claim Lady Nott's unborn child."

The entire room gasped and Hermione's heart stopped with astonishment, disbelieving what she was hearing. No, she could not have just heard that he was claiming her child. It had to be her mind that construed such a thing. The shock in the room was replaced with whispering as every person conferring between themselves now confirmed it was his child she was carrying. Heat emanated from every part of her body. "You cannot claim a child," she said disbelievingly. The fact that he'd acknowledged the child as his was now a past issue and she moved on, focusing on the core of his petition, that he could claim the child. "This is my child. It is not up for claim."

"Why don't you step forward, Lady Nott," Voldemort said, but with a more serious tone than he'd had a moment ago. Hermione didn't know if that was good or bad. Her thoughts were racing, wondering if she could perhaps flee. She might have to now, the moment she escaped this room. "Claiming an unborn child out of wedlock is unprecedented, Lord Malfoy. Believing yourself the father is not sufficient ground. A child is not land, but I am sure you know this. Proceed with your argument."

"This child is not born in wedlock to the house of Nott either, so legally it will belong to its rightful family."

Goosebumps rose along Hermione's arms, because her family was owned by Verchose. It was the reason for Malfoy's calling in of this supposed debt—to get control of the chattel. He had no interest in the land and as human chattel would not outlive the lease, he effectively owned them.

"Lady Nott is mudblood by birth, and so is her child. That child therefor belongs to her original family, and to me."

"This is a stretch, Lord Malfoy," Voldemort said.

"You cannot honestly propose to take a child from its mother," Hermione interjected. "I might have been born a mudblood, but I am landed gentry. You have no right to strip me of my child even if I wasn't. The bond between child and mother is not sometime for anyone to toy with."

Malfoy looked as serious as she had ever seen him. "This is no game. I intend to claim this child as my heir. Give me the child," he demanded.

"No!" a woman cried from behind them. Hermione turned to see Astoria marching forward, pushing through the crowd. "He's not claiming some filthy bastard child. I won't allow it," she spat harshly.

The crowd move closer as she approached, eager to hear every detail on what had to be the most sordid development in the court's history. It was utterly ludicrous.

"Give me the child!" Malfoy repeated, louder this time, a clear demand.

There was a noise that sounded animalistic from Astoria, somewhere between a howl and a growl. Before Hermione's brain could understand what was going on, she saw the glinting of metal, swinging in an arc and landing like a missile in Malfoy's back. He arched with pain. Hermione had been too shocked to move, unable to make the scene in front of her eyes make any sense.

Blood covered Astoria's hand when she stepped away, looking pleased with a maniacal way. Out of nowhere, guard appeared, dragging the woman away. Voldemort was on his feet and there were disbelieving noises from the crowd—sharp cries and shocked gasps.

She'd just stabbed him. The idea was just sinking in.

With his back straight, Malfoy wavered slightly on his feet. His expression was his normal, cold even as if he refused to relent to emotions even in this most extreme of circumstance. The handle of the knife was sticking straight up so the knife was lodged deeply into his chest cavity. It had to pierce his lung, but as he was still standing, it could not have pierced his heart.

Hermione rushed to him, taking him by the elbows to steady him. His eyes shifted to hers for a moment and then he sank down to his knees. He coughed and blood looked ruby red on his pale skin. He was almost white, and even translucent. She could see blue veins at the bottom of his jaw and now she could hear that his breath was ragged and labored.

"Get the mediwizards," Voldemort ordered. "Take him to his chambers."

The guards came forward and claimed him, carried him away so it seemed he floated away from her. He kept eye contact until the crowd envelope him as he was carried through the hall.

There was blood on one of Hermione's hands too, bright and warm. Her clean hand was covering her mouth and all she could do was stare at her hand and the pools of blood on the floor, which had reached to stain the skirt of her dress as she kneeled. He'd bled profusely. It was a grave wound and he probably wouldn't survive it.

She was still too stunned to move. It was Ackerley who came to collect her, suggesting that perhaps she should retreat to her rooms. This horrible thing had happened and it seemed ludicrous that the simply return to their rooms. "Is he alive?"

"We don't know," Ackerley said. "They have taken him to the medics."

There was nothing in his voice that sounded encouraging. He didn't believe Malfoy would live. No some level, it occurred to her that Malfoy was the father of this child. She'd been so focused on protecting the child from him that she hadn't considered the fact that there was a real and solid link between this child and him. And Astoria had killed him. Her child would never get to meet its father.

It had been a vicious and vindictive action. With an heir, she would no longer be needed, but would rather destroy everything than allow someone else to lose.

The woman might come for the child, Hermione realized and rose as Ackerley urged her. Hermione had to get to safety. Surely they couldn't let her roam around. Everyone had just seen her attempt to murder her husband, but then she was Voldemort's favorite.


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38

There was no real news at court, only rumors. Rumors about Malfoy and how he was faring, rumors about Astoria and what would happen to her. The gossips said that she was holed up in her apartments, but surely they would not have put Malfoy and Astoria in the same place, so where was Malfoy, and was he still alive?

Nothing seemed to happen. There was no news, even as the invitation for a garden luncheon came. Things were just continuing as normal, as if nothing had happened. Or maybe Voldemort just swept these inconveniences under the carpet, like he had with Theo's murder.

Hermione didn't know what to do. She still felt Malfoy's blood on her hands, even as she tried to tell herself she wasn't responsible. Could she really say that though? It was her pregnancy, her sleeping with him and getting herself pregnant, that had been the cause of Astoria's rage. Technically, it was him claiming the child as his heir that had enraged her. Truthfully, Hermione didn't think Astoria would care a whit about the child if he hadn't tried to claim it.

She just wanted to know if Malfoy was alive, but no one seemed to be able to tell her. Maybe when she went to the luncheon, she would receive more news. Surely someone had to know what was going on. The elves revealed nothing when she queried them, and none of the clerks seemed available at the moment.

It felt wrong to dress in a summery gown for the garden luncheon, but it was what was expected. The charade went on endlessly, no matter what happened, it seemed. But then for many, this was just another juicy turn of the court antics. Perhaps the most notorious ever, when Malfoy's wife turned on him and stabbed him in front of the entire court. It was a storyline for the troubadours, and Hermione suspected they would recount it all over the land.

Wearing white muslin, she prepared herself for the luncheon. Her eyes had dark underneath him from lack of sleep. During the night, she had tossed and turned, seeing the glinting of that knife in slow motion and the otherworldly sight of seeing it lodge into Malfoy's flesh, the look in his eyes as he'd struggled to breathe. These sights would not leave her alone, and all the time, she didn't know if he yet lived. He could be dead right now and they simply didn't know.

The thought made her need to move, as if uncomfortable in her own skin. She needed to take some responsibility in this, even if she hadn't foreseen the extreme consequences. And Astoria, she really was beyond the pale. This couldn't be forgiven. Surely, she wouldn't be. Even if Voldemort didn't see fit to punish her, the court would, or would the people here gladly sweep such despicable behaviour aside and pretend all was well? Hermione couldn't.

Not to mention that Hermione felt she needed to watch her back every moment unless the woman came flying with a knife.

This was all so awful. A part of her wanted to pack up and leave, but she couldn't. Firstly, there was Malfoy's petition. There would be nowhere in the land to hide from Voldemort's edicts. She had to stay and fight her corner, or they would effectively end up becoming Malfoy's slaves if she gave up her title—or even worse, Astoria's slaves. With Malfoy's move on the Verchose family, her family was now his chattel, and that would include her and her children if she gave up her position and title. Secondly, she wasn't willing to let Astoria go unpunished, even if she was the only one who sought to undo her. If not for Malfoy, then for Theo. The woman clearly had a penchant for removing her enemies through violent means. This meant that she would be a treat every single day.

The garden was set up beautifully. Everything was white, from the tables and chairs, and the gently swaying lights that caught the cool breeze, to the elves serving. The tables was set with white plates and crystal glasses, ample flowers adorning each table. All courtiers were milling around, lightly dressed in white and pastels. On the surface, it looked picture perfect, but then everything was about the surface here.

"Lady Nott," Wildersmith said, appearing at her side. A pale yellow waistcoat draped around his round belly, gold rings on his fingers. "Have you recovered from last night's events?"

"Has there been any news about Malfoy?" Hermione asked.

"Not as of yet."

Hermione bit her lips together.

"It is likely," Wildersmith continued, "that he still lives. Otherwise, they would have said so, surely. You are worried for him?"

"Are you not? Is people getting murdered par for the course for you?" Perhaps her tone was a bit harsh, but she didn't care right now, or for the insinuations he was making.

"No, of course not," he said, looking hurt, which she knew he didn't feel. "What has happened is an upmost tragedy. I had not been aware that you had such an involved relationship, I have to say."

Hermione realized that he had to feel as if he'd been lied to, which wasn't true. He was her main alliance partner and she'd had this relationship with their supposed common enemy. Her behavior could be seen as very bad faith, and she did owe him an explanation. "Not a relationship," she admitted, "an unforeseen complication to a passing… interaction."

"Some interaction."

"Yes, I know all has been less than ideal, maybe even regrettable."

"And now you have provided the heir he so desperately needs." She knew through Wildersmith calculating mind, he was thinking she had done it on purpose.

"Believe me, that was not my intention and I was doing everything in my power to fight that fact. This entanglement means nothing good for me and my family. It was entirely unplanned and poses nothing but risk for my family."

"But then he has claimed the child and if in mid petition he dies, things get very complicated. If Lord Malfoy dies, your child is his heir apparent, provided Voldemort grants his petition. This would mean you take control of the Malfoy estates." Hermione turned to him, perhaps not shocked that he would overlook the horror of all that had happened and search for a means to benefit from the situation. His success in this court was not the result of him being swayed by emotion, or distracted by setback. She couldn't hold it against him for being a creature that thrived in this court, when she had survived here by that very propensity.

"You would be the most powerful woman in the land," he continued.

Hermione had been too distracted by the horror to realize this implication. Everything rested on Voldemort's decision. He could either grant the petition or deny it. Malfoy's death might make the petition more meaningful and urgent. Him granting it would make her and her child more powerful than Voldemort would be comfortable with. It could put her at risk of Voldemort simply eliminating the problem of an imbalance at court. And even if he didn't grant the petition, the claim would persist and she and her child would forever be a threat to whoever did inherit the Malfoy estate. Voldemort could change his mind at any time, and Malfoy had claimed that her child was his true heir.

She itched to sink her face into her hands, but everyone was watching her. Danger lay ahead for her and her family if Malfoy died.

Turning, she looked at Wildersmith and she could see the greed and amusement shining in his eyes. He only saw the power.

"It would be dangerous to have too much power here," Hermione said and he considered her for a moment, then sighed.

"It would be a perilous situation, one that would have to be carefully managed."

"As you say, Malfoy has not been declared dead, so let's hope for his swift recovery." It would be the best thing, but it presented a fresh set of problems. Voldemort would either grant his request, which meant a world of problems, or he would deny it, which was the best out of all outcomes. Then again, Malfoy might not stop even if his petition was rejected.

Voldemort appeared, wearing pale silk robes. His features were sharp and serious and he waved away of couple approaching him to continue his progress to the elevated platform where his chair was. With heaviness he sat down and guardedly studied at the scene in front of him. He clearly wasn't allowing any interactions today. Some days he was like that, only wanted to observe them. It made Hermione feel like she was a part of a zoo, his personal menagerie.

But perhaps he wasn't willing to answer any awkward questions today. Or did his sullenness mean Malfoy had succumbed to his wounds? While Astoria had his favour, Voldemort did enjoy Malfoy's strength, ruthlessness and willingness to smythe his enemies. Hermione looked down as she felt Voldemort's attention turn to her. If Malfoy lives, she had to find some way of asking him not to grant his request. If Malfoy didn't, she would have to thread very carefully indeed. Astoria would be enraged, as would the alternate heirs to Malfoy's estate. Who it was was an issue she needed to establish fairly quickly.

"Lord Wildersmith, do you know who the current heir of the Malfoy estate is if Malfoy dies, and his petition is not granted?"

"Well, that gets complicated. There isn't an explicit heir, but the next in line would probably be Reuben Lestrange, but I'm not sure he can inherent due to his incarceration for madness. I don't actually know if he lives. The Rosier family in probably next in line, but I couldn't say for certain. Would you like me to find out?"

Did she? Did she trust the answer he gave her? Trust was something that destroyed one in this place. "I would appreciate that very much," she said. She would also be doing her own investigation and it would prove telling and interesting how their results compare. It wouldn't surprise her if Wildersmith presented results that would favour him and his intentions.

In the meantime, she would be praying that Malfoy lived. For a moment, she smiled, thinking how Malfoy made absolutely everything complicated and she was tangled up in every breath he took.


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39

Still, there was no news and Hermione's anxiety refused to relent. Many thought no news was good news and most of the time, she could convince herself they were right. But some confirmation would be nice, was desperately needed, actually. Were they purposefully being kept in the dark, for amusement left to wonder and worry.

Another area where she felt at a complete loss was what she needed to do. It felt as if every ball was in someone else's court and she was tied down by it. Surely there had to be some punishment for this, but then the last punishment Voldemort had meted out to her for a serious crime was to send her back to her estate for a while. Was that what would happen this time? A slap on the hand for murdering a husband? Trying to murder, she reminded herself.

Hermione wandered and paced, even sought the peace of the garden, but it only reminded her of Draco. Some of their most intense conversations had happened in that garden. It was no longer the sanctuary it used to be.

Mr. Lovegood's open door caught her attention. It had been a while since she'd seen the old man and she made her way over. He rarely gave her straight answers, but she could try to see if he knew anything. Or else she could just check that he was alive. By the look of it, the elves were not allowed anywhere near his place.

"Mr. Lovegood?" she called as she walked into the messy hallway. His chambers always had a peculiar smell, but then he seemed to always be brewing some potions.

"Who is calling me?" he demanded from some nook or cranny.

"It is Lady Nott."

"Ah, the troublesome Lady Nott."

Hermione mouth drew tight. Was that how she was referred to now? And obviously, she was blamed for the entire incident, which was unfair. She was not the one who decided to draw out a blade and kill someone. Taking a breath, she steeled herself. "Mr. Lovegood, I was hoping you would have some news."

"News about what?" he said, appearing from behind a mound of mess, his robes messy and stained. It was clear he was not taken care of by anyone.

"About Lord Malfoy, whether he lives."

"Oh," the man said, looking disappointed.

Hermione's heart clenched. He knew something.

"Yes, yes, he still lives," he said, distracted again. "For now. One never knows with these things. He is strong, but sometimes that is not enough."

Relief washed over her. It felt like she had gone forever without this simple piece of news. He lived. "Surely if he has survived so far, it is likely that he will."

"He has survived the wound, but will he survive the infection? That is the question. It is always the question with anything. There is the deed and then the impact of the deed. They are two different things, always remember that."

"I'm sure the impact hasn't even played out yet," Hermione muttered quietly. If no one else, no doubt Malfoy would exact his punishment on Astoria if he lived.

A great deal of the uncertainty was laid to rest. She knew what was going on. There was still a risk Malfoy would succumb, but he was strong; he knew how to fight. Knowing what the state was made it so much easier to deal with. He was alive.

It was perhaps interesting to note how relieved she felt at hearing that. Was that relief because she felt responsible, she wondered. Or was that relief because she really didn't want to see him dead? Most cynically, it could be relief because it would harm her position if he died.

No, she was not that kind of person, she determined. This court was not changing the fundamentals of her soul. The machinations of this court were superficial; they weren't life or death, even if it sucked you in to seem like it. A knife in the back was real. Everything else was drama and pretense.

Now that she had her answer, she didn't need anything more from Mr. Lovegood. She looked around and the pervasive mess that seemed to have no rhyme or reason, but Mr. Lovegood guarded it like treasure. "Would you like to have tea with me, Mr. Lovegood?"

"No, I do not want tea," he stated as if she'd proposed something ludicrous. Well, obviously. That should teach her for asking. "I might have a lemonade, though."

"I have some excellent lemonade back in my apartments. Please let me invite you." She hoped he would agree because she didn't trust not to get poisoned consuming anything out of his crockery. "Pastries to, delivered from my estate. You wouldn't believe how delicate."

=0=

They were summoned to the great hall, which was a large space Voldemort didn't use that often, and following the directions her elf had delivered, she made her way. This summons had not specified what kind of event they were attending and Hermione had been at a loss what to wear.

Tonight might be a surprise, but Hermione had an ominous feeling. This was out of character and that was typically not a good thing when it came to Voldemort. She reached the hall and there were not festivities organized, no decorations or even any furniture at all. The courtiers milled around the vast hall, Voldemort's elevated platform on top of steps at the end of the room.

Something would happen tonight. She could feel it in her bones, and she wasn't alone. There was a nervousness in the crowd. It felt like the pretense was over. There were none of Voldemort's gimmicks, or expectations in how they would act or dress.

Tonight wasn't about them, Hermione realized; tonight they would be witnesses. Exactly to what, she didn't know, but Malfoy was still too unwell if Mr. Lovegood could be believed, so this had to be about Astoria.

Even the thought of seeing the woman made Hermione's skin crawl. Actually, she jumped as the door banged open, echoing through the room. Voldemort appeared and by the look on his face, she knew she was right. There was anger there, but tempered with something else. His expressions were mostly hard to read.

He slowly walked through the room, everyone moving out of his way. "Bring the accused," he said as reached his throne and sat down, flaring his robes across the gilded chair.

It was the first time Hermione had heard Astoria been referred to as 'the accused', unless he was speaking of someone else. Hermione would be deeply disappointed if Voldemort dragged out some peasant to pass judgement on, in some attempt to make him look harsh and judgemental when he ignored wrongdoings committed in front of his very eyes. Surely he didn't thing that would fool anyone? But then he had tendency to think everyone thought what he wanted them to think. Sadly, the court tended to comply.

But it wasn't some dirty, starving creature that was dragged in; it was Astoria, looking regal dressed in her finest clothes and her head held high. Fat pearls hung from her ears and her hair had ostrich feathers in metallic greens and blues. Her eyes did flash betrayingly with fear at one moment, perhaps in seeing the whole court assembled. No doubt, she would prefer this to be done in private.

They parted the way for her to stand in front of Voldemort. The room was deathly silent, her steps quiet as she moved, as if floating before them.

"The accused," one of the guards said and anger flashed through Astoria's eyes.

"Astoria," Voldemort said and Hermione noted the familiar reference. Was this going to be some kind of show?

"My dearest liege," she said, looking hurt and teary, deeply curtsying. "I beseech your mercy in what is the most trying times. My dear husband committed such a betrayal, I lost all senses." A few eyes turned to Hermione, but many didn't want to miss anything of the dramatics unfolding in front of their eyes. "There is only so much betrayal a woman can take. My husband was unfaithful, and then wished to install his begotten whore̵̵̵-child in my very house. How was I supposed to react? Anyone with reason would lose their senses."

Voldemort tilted his head, but didn't say anything. For a moment, Hermione wondered if everyone was buying this and she would get away with it.

"I did warn you, Astoria," Voldemort said, his grating voice echoing.

Astoria swallowed visibly and she was clearly frantically thinking through her options. "You must understand the things I have endured in this marriage. It has been awful. He's an awful man. He hurts me all the time; he's beastly. At some point, one has to fight back. That was what you saw. And my actions weren't fatal, nowhere near close."

Astoria was gaining confidence now; she strengthened and inflated, and Hermione wanted to scream and rail at her, but she couldn't. They couldn't be buying this tale.

"But it is not the first time you have tried to murder someone, Astoria," Voldemort said. "And the previous time, you were successful."

Hermione's jaw dropped open. He had to be referring to Theo. He knew and he was using it against her. Hope flared in Hermione's chest that the woman wouldn't escape punishment.

Astoria's mouth opened and closed like a fish. "There is no proof," she stated.

"Are you saying I'm lying?" Voldemort warned. She was in trouble now. This was usually how things went badly; how Voldemort tied people in knots.

"Of course not. You are not capable of such things, but there are bad people here; people who lie to you, and they seek to harm me. Like her," Astoria said, turning to sharply point at Hermione. "She's the one doing all this. I never harmed her husband; he killed himself and now she blames it on me. She'd the one doing all this."

Dread flared up Hermione's body. It was ludicrous, but Voldemort wouldn't forgo ludicrous if it suited his purposes, and blaming all this on a mudblood might suit his purposes well. With speed, her eyes sought him, but he wasn't looking at her; he wasn't buying it. It was the perfect out, but he wasn't taking it.

"No, Astoria. You have defied me for the last time."

"No," Astoria wailed. "I've never defied you. I've loved you like a father, better than my own father."

"Like a willful and disobedient child. To think you can murder people at my court, under my protection. You have gone too far, Astoria."

"My liege, my friend," Astoria said, sinking down on her knees to beg. "I have only tried to right the wrongs that have been done to me. It's only fair."

"I have punished you before, Astoria. I have warned you before, yet you ignore my edicts. I cannot tolerate such defiance."

"My liege," Astoria said, tears were flowing down her cheeks. It seemed Astoria feared this punishment, which meant she knew it would be more than being sent away to cool her heels at her estate.

"Take her away," Voldemort said to the guards.

"No!" Astoria yelled and rose to run, but the guards grabbed her. She was dragged out fighting. None of the composure she'd shown arriving were on display now. "I'm innocent. This is unjust. They have turned you against me," she said accusingly to the people present. "This is injustice. She did this, the whore."

The door closed and it felt almost as if a hurricane was shut out with it, leaving the hall in complete silence.

"Leave," Voldemort commanded, his voice barely more than a rumble. Hermione didn't dare look at him unless he take his temper out on her. He could technically see this as her fault, too.


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40

The court was abuzz. Astoria's 'trial' had been the most explosive development of the whole sorry tale. No one knew what her punishment would be, but there was speculation aplenty. Some thought the trial was punishment enough, while others thought she had tried Voldemort's patience too far. Exile, some said. Death, the more hard-line voices claimed.

Voldemort didn't attend the luncheon put on in one of the morning rooms. It was an event that had been planned before Astoria's trial, and it served as little more than an opportunity to dissect the all the things worth gossiping about.

Hermione couldn't settle, instead paced through the hall, acknowledging people with a nod when she had to. They were all discussing her and how she fit into the scheme of things, and she knew it. Astoria's punishment could affect her profoundly, but she didn't quite know how. Things came out of the blue here, like pieces moved around in a chess game. Their houses all built on shifting sands.

In a way, she didn't want to think about it. All these developments, all the tension, had gotten too much. Some normalcy—as much as could be gotten in this court—would be appreciated. Now that Malfoy wasn't dead, maybe there was a chance that it could be achieved again. But it was an unrealistic wish. Things would not go back to the way they had been. Too much had passed for that to be.

Unable to eat, Hermione kept pacing. If people commented in it, she didn't care. They could say what they wanted; they did anyway. Hopefully they would understand if she wasn't in a chatty mood. The tittle-tattle would continue, but she had reached a plateau of concern. The milk was already spilt; there was nothing she could do about them now, so they could talk their hearts out.

Mercifully, the luncheon ended and they were released. Hermione retreated to the gardens and found the bench she liked to sit on. It air actually felt a little bit warmer, or was it her exhaustion? Were her nerves so shot she could no longer concern herself with anything else? What little peace available was heavenly.

Above her, the doors to one of the Malfoy balconies was open and a curtain fluttered in the breeze. Was Malfoy in there convalescing? Or was Astoria in there worrying about her punishment, or still raging?

With a sigh, Hermione looked down at her feet and gently moved a pebble around with her shoe. She couldn't shake the feeling that there were still things to come, developments she hadn't foreseen. Had she lost the ability to trust stillness and peace? It felt like the harbinger of bad things. There had to be some price to pay for all this and it hadn't revealed itself yet.

With the weather relatively decent for once, she couldn't bring herself to going back to her apartments and shutting herself inside. She stayed in the garden and time fleeted by.

"Lady Nott," an elf said in its small, squeaky voice. Hermione looked up. "All are being summoned."

A summons. This was unplanned and had likely to do with Astoria's punishment. Nerves twisted Hermione's gut. How Astoria would act was hard to tell, but she had held nothing back last time she had been seen. All vestiges of the mask she wore in this society had been lost and revealed the harsh and angry person underneath. Slipped masks rarely fit the same way afterwards.

The elf waited and Hermione rose. "Where are we gathering?"

"I'll show you," the elf said and started walking ahead of her. Normally they simply told her which hall they were meeting in, but not today. Diversion from norm always made her uncomfortable, but maybe they were meeting in a courtyard to see Astoria off. Exile was the punishment Hermione tended to believe in. It was probably the punishment she was the most comfortable with. It would be devastating for Astoria, who lived and breathed life at court. It would also keep husband and wife apart. Whether Voldemort would now grant a divorce to Malfoy was something still to be answered. But was it too lenient a punishment for the crimes she had committed? Perhaps it was.

The elf lead her to corridors and spaces until they reached a part of the castle that Hermione had never seen before. A strange corridor with stone walls. The air had an unpleasantness about it. It was hard to pinpoint why. A window lit the space and tapestries hung along the wall. It was a corridor like most others. People stood ahead of her, but Hermione couldn't see past them. This was where they were meeting. A corridor. Why were they meeting here? What a strange place for passing a sentence.

Terry Booth stood in his livered clothes, waiting patiently. Hermione hadn't seen him since she'd first arrived. There were others too, others behind him that Hermione hadn't seen before, but they were clearly not part of the court and their clothes were rough and dirty in comparison.

For once the gathered assembly was quiet, even if barely contained excitement shone through their eyes. Something felt really off about this.

After a while, Voldemort appeared. Hermione could hear him coming before she saw him. He barked some order at an elf. Arriving, he stood strong and tall in front of them, looking down his nose at them as if disapproving of what he saw. "For the charge of murder and attempt of the same," he started. Hermione felt goose bumps rise along her skin. Astoria was being charged with Theo's murder as well. Both elation and dread raced through Hermione. In a way, she felt justice being served because Theo's murder was being acknowledged, but then this punishment was for one of murder, which meant this would be harsher than many hoped. "Bring the prisoner."

Double door opened down the hall and guards led Astoria forward. Her hair was not as polished as it typically was, strands of it escaping her formerly neat pinnings. She wore the same dress as her trial. Clearly, she had not been given amenities to change since, which shot discomfort through Hermione. There was also a wildness in Astoria's eyes, which flashed with rage, and maybe even madness.

"You can't do this to me," she hissed, turning around to pierce them all with her stare. "None of you."

Voldemort nodded to Terry, who pulled the nearest tapestries aside to reveal a small room behind. Was this a jailcell? There was no door. It appeared to be circular inside, built out of stone, with no window.

"An oubliette," someone in the crowd whispered. "I heard he had them."

Oubliette. Hermione had read about them, but she had never seen one. No, it couldn't be. A place where people were forgotten.

The guards pushed Astoria inside and the workmen approached with buckets of mortar. They started laying bricks and it took Hermione a moment to understand what she was seeing. They were building a wall across the entrance to the room. The horror of it hit her with a wave of nausea.

"You're all ugly and stupid," Astoria spat. "You're all sheep, bow down to him while he rams it up your tender, bare bottoms. Too weak to even stand up for yourselves. But you love me," she said, turning to Voldemort with tears in her eyes. "How could you do this to me?"

Voldemort's expression didn't change, remaining impassive.

"It's them you're supposed to be punishing. Her," Astoria said, manically pointing at Hermione. "She's responsible for all this. The whore."

Hermione didn't know what to say. Her mind was still caught up in the horror of Astoria's punishment, let alone considering that the woman was still trying to implicate her.

"And you all stand by and do nothing," Astoria screamed. "He rapes your daughters; he kills your sons—steal your land, and you are all too cowardly to do anything about it. You've betrayed me—all of you. You're the ones who deserve to be here, not me."

In a way, Astoria was more truthful than anyone in this court. It surprised Hermione that the woman has been aware of all these things, had known exactly what was going on, but had loved it here so much nonetheless—until Voldemort had turned on her.

The bricks were up to Astoria's thighs now. They were going to brick her in walk away, forget she was there as the namesake of this place they were putting her in. This wasn't right.

Astoria kept screaming and swearing, calling them every name under the sun. The true extent of her madness was glaringly obvious. This woman had murdered Theo for turning her down, tried to murder her husband for doing things she didn't wish—claiming a child.

The storm of emotions inside Hermione only built with every brick put in place. Astoria deserved punishment, but it was heartbreaking to watch this. Would it be easier if she were beheaded, if they stood and watched the blade above her neck? No, probably not, but this was also particularly cruel. This death would not be quick or merciful. It would be drawn out and painful. Well, maybe she would run out of oxygen and simply fall asleep. Hermione hoped so, but didn't know if it was true.

The wall was up to her waist now. It felt like a slow-motion accident, where things were in reality happening so quickly no one could react, although they weren't in reality happening quickly. Each brink relentlessly made the space of the doorway smaller, and it felt awful.

"Surely, this isn't right," Hermione found herself saying.

Voldemort turned to her, raising an eyebrow. "You feel her punishment isn't just?" he asked. "You, whose husband she murdered, who died in brutal agony with poisons in his blood. I would have thought you had more loyalty to your husband."

Insult washed over her with the accusation. "It is just the method. It seems inordinately cruel—alone and forgotten."

"Cruel? Why should it not be? What has she done to deserve clemency? Then try to murder her husband in front of the entire court to see? What should we do with a person like that, Lady Nott? Look at her, raging like a wild beast."

Hermione didn't know what to say. Yes, she deserved punishment, even to die for her crimes, but having to watch it was too much.

"If you don't see the problem with her behavior, perhaps we should put you in there as well. She won't die alone then, will she? Anyone who thinks her punishment is unjust is welcome to join her. It won't serve us here to have people around who excuse murder or even attempted murder of our illustrious members, does it? Isn't that so, Lady Nott? Do you think her punishment unjust?"

People were watching her and Hermione know Voldemort had trapped her in a corner. She was being forced to agree with him and his edict, or she would meet the same fate. The aspects about this felt again the grain, but she was being manhandled like he so often had done to others. "Her punishment is just," Hermione forced herself to say.

Voldemort looked pleased and returned his attention to the final bricks being laid in place. Astoria's wild screams could still be heard inside, but were more and more last brick went into place and it had a finality to it. The screams could no longer be heard.

Astoria was not dead at this point, but she had been dealt with—rejected. It was almost as if her death was inconsequential. It was the rejection that was the punishment—that would eventually kill her.

Without ceremony, it was over. The tapestry was drawn back in place and now hung to cover the bricks that kept Astoria confined for however long she survived in there.

People started walking away and Hermione forced one foot in front of the other. Emotions were conflicting wildly inside her chest. Astoria did perhaps deserve to die for her crimes. Murderers were usually hanged and why did she deserve more leniency than anyone else? Some would even say this was more dignified than watching someone contort at the end of a rope. Not that Astoria had been dignified as she'd been hidden away, letting all the vehemence and wrath flow out of her. Hermione even knew that the woman would likely murder again if she were allowed to.

Even so, it was difficult to watch her being buried away in what would be her tomb. There were probably even more souls hidden away behind those tapestries along the walls. A deep shiver ran though Hermione's body. Voldemort wasn't light in his punishments and maybe it beat starving to death in a cage by the side of the road. Or maybe the terror of being entombed would overwhelm with sheer, claustrophobic panic. Hermione couldn't bring herself to think about it.

Even now, a panicked urge to do something, to stop the accident occurring before her eyes was still turbulent inside her. It wasn't even about Astoria, because the woman truly didn't deserve such consideration, but simply for another human being who was facing death. Still all felt so unnatural, which was perhaps why she could never contemplate burying a knife in someone's back. To Astoria, this wasn't, and Hermione had been robbed of her husband and lover because of it.


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41

The mood stayed somber in the citadel for a few days. Even the gossip died down and a deep discomfort at Astoria's fate bit deeply in Hermione's chest. The fact that there were guards keeping people out of that part of the castle had meandered its way from lips to ears. Poor Astoria, Hermione thought, feeling the strange heaviness of grief for a woman that she truly did despise. Why could people not live in harmony?

It was difficult to justify why Astoria didn't deserve her fate, but it was hard to bear that her murdering ways had forced them all to become murderers in turn, because that was what they were. By not charging into that corridor and digging her out of there, they were, in essence, complicit.

Hermione sighed deeply, hating every part of this. There was no upside to it any way you cut it. Why couldn't the world be a happy place where they restrained themselves to the things they all wanted and needed—family, love, children. These things were so natural when they were children. How had they gone wrong along the way?

Smiling, she considered the idea of Malfoy running through a field of wild flowers, holding hands with someone. No, even thinking of it seemed unnatural. Malfoy wasn't a creature of happy abandon; never would be.

Thoughts of him featured more prominent in her mind. No news had been heard, so he had to be on the mend. Was he conscious? Was he aware that his wife was at that very moment dying, or already dead.

A spear of discomfort shot through Hermione at the thought. The heaviness of this all had her pinned, and she even felt guilty wanting to escape it, wanting to forget about the justice that was being meted out. It was cowardly not to bear the full burden on it.

Mr. Lovegood seemed to have access to Malfoy, was in some form part of his convalescence. Maybe she should go ask how he was faring, or perhaps she should simply to go his apartment door and ask. Had they not a right to know? Was anyone actually ensuring he was being cared for properly—a job that really should be Astoria's, if it wasn't for the poor choice in marriage he had made in the first place.

The notion that he was free of the restraints of his marriage was another uncomfortable thought, but she would have to worry about that later. In dire circumstances, triage was important, and now the only thing that mattered was recovery. The political game could be returned to when he was fit to play.

Hermione decided to enquire at his apartments about how he fared. If there was no one there to open the door for her, then that told her something she needed to know in and of itself.

A cord hung down as a chime, a black velvet covered rope with a large tassel on the end. Had that been here last time she'd come knocking? She couldn't remember. Pulling it, she heard nothing inside. The ornate, black door mutely stood guard, until finally one of them cracked open and Hermione saw an elf inside.

"I have come to enquire about the wellbeing of Lord Malfoy," she stated.

The elf closed the door without a word and Hermione wondered if they were coming back or if she was just shut out. Surely they would have said 'no visitors' in that case. Then again, it wouldn't surprise her if they just ignored her. They did carry out Voldemort's dictates with precision.

Astoria's varied accusations and rants returned for a moment, charging them all with being weak and complicit. It was undoubtedly true, and it still astounded Hermione the things that had flowed out of Astoria's mouth. Likely, the woman had seen herself as a rebel, as the one who had been brave. Unfortunately, her bravery had been murderous. Hermione pushed the woman out of her thoughts again.

The door opened once more. "You may enter," the elf said. Hermione walked inside, but the elf had disappeared by the time she turned around again. The door was closed. It must have disapparated the way they could do, or there was some secret passage somewhere. The thought secret passages riddled through the whole citadel sent chills up her spine.

The stark black and white of his apartments surrounded her and it was utterly silent. Only the light caress of the curtains gently blowing along the marble floors could be heard.

She stood but no one seemed to be there. Nothing was out of place and everything in his apartments were the height of sumptuousness. Gilded portraits covered the walls, staring down with disapproving faces. A ding made her jump, but it was only an elaborate golden clock on a mantel piece. Really, she needed to pull herself together.

No one was coming and she walked forward, her steps echoing off the high ceilings. "Hello?" she called. Was there no one here?

"As much as it aggrieves me to receive you in less than crowning circumstances, you will have to come to me," Malfoy said from a room beyond.

Well, there was no doubt he was conscious. Hermione walked toward where his voice come from, an open set of double doors. It was his bed chamber and she could see rich, white carpet inside, and black, gilded furniture. It was a large room and as she reached the doorway, she saw the black four post bed. Something in her felt as if she should look away, as if she was intruding on his privacy.

"Welcome to my inner sanctum," he said, his voice croaky and gravelly.

Now she didn't know what to do or say. It felt wrong to step over the threshold into his bed chamber. "I came to see how you are," she said.

"Been worried about me?"

"Well, if you saw the size of the knife, then you would have been worried, too."

She stepped inside, the sound of her footsteps disappearing on the thick carpet.

"Feeling it was bad enough."

A bandage was wound around his shoulder and across under his arm on the other side. He lay bare chested in black, silk pants laying softly along his legs. Even convalescing, he insisted on being stylish. Hermione smiled. "They are actually being very quiet about how you are faring."

There was a chair next to be the bed that someone had used to sit with him. Who, she wondered. Feeling awkward, she sat down. Now that she was close enough, she could see he was feverish. His eyes were glassy and his cheeks rosy. Still very much in the process of recovering, but much better than the last time she'd seen him when he'd been so pale he'd been turning gray. It was also a compelling and vulnerable sight. Hermione looked away.

"I suppose you have been told of Astoria's fate," she said carefully.

"Her execution. I heard you spoke up against it." She could feel his eyes on her, studying her. Apparently, he was well informed.

"I felt the means were particularly cruel."

"On some level, I should perhaps thank you for trying to alleviate her plight. For all she has done, she is my wife and I do owe her wellbeing some loyalty simply for that fact. You have my gratitude."

Hermione didn't know what to say—had little reference for how to act in these extraordinary circumstances. Code of etiquette didn't cover gratitude over dealings with regards to murderous spouses being executed in terrible ways. Well, at least not in her family.

"I am glad to see you are on the mend," she finally said.

"Are you?"

Perhaps it would not be a good idea to go into detail on the problems his death would cause her because it meant having an in-depth discussion about the child she was carrying. He would not be able to see it thought her gown, but she was starting to show a little when looking in the mirror.

That was a contentious subject that could be left for another day. "Well, under the circumstance, I have been lamenting why we can't all live happily in harmony."

"Perhaps your hormones are getting the better of you."

And apparently, he was not going to comply with the concept of leaving that subject be for now. She looked at him and they stared at each other for a moment. "Astoria accused us all of being cowardly sheep."

"Well, Astoria's way was never going to get us the happy contentment you seek. Astoria got exactly what she wanted, for her to be the chaos within perfect order. It would never have pleased her if others did exactly what they wanted, but she was always too self-absorbed to see anything beyond her own desires."

"Do you?" Hermione accused gently.

Malfoy smiled. "The harmony you wish for is utterly unrealistic. It is not in our natures."

"Not sure that is true. There was probably even a point where you were a sweet, innocent child."

"But then we are inevitably corrupted."

The exact reason she was never going to relinquish this child to him. "I have more lofty ambition," she stated.

"An ambition diametrically opposed to the circumstances you find yourself in."

"Then I have to be strong and keep the ugliness away."

"Even you can't stop the ugliness from seducing and corrupting." The meaning of this conversation was warping, but perhaps even more pertinent. "Harmony by nature will seek to sooth, to rush in and try to alleviate any discord."

An image of her joining him on the bed flittered into her mind. Yes, there was definitely something in her that had sought to sooth his painful and rough edges. It was what had gotten her into this mess in the first place.

"Maybe being grown up means accepting that disharmony must be cut out and kept at a distance. Otherwise, peace is sacrificed, is it not?"

"The world around us tells us that harmony always weakens. Disharmony is, after all, synonymous with fighting, so it is better equipped to do so. It is the dichotomy that can never be escaped."

"I guess that depends on what you think reinforces strength. You couldn't know this, but love is strongest of all." And the love for a child is indestructible. It never compromises; it never bends.

Whether he knew it or not, she had won this argument. "I am glad you are on the mend." She rose, feeling like she had done what she'd come to do, and didn't want to continue with this debate. It was cutting a little close to the bone and right now, she simply wanted a truce.

There would be no truce with him, though, which was perhaps the point he was making.


	42. Chapter 42

Chapter 42

A large bang occurred somewhere nearby. Hermione froze as she sat by her desk, writing instructions for her estate managers. Freezing, she listened intently, but nothing else was heard. It was rare that noise was heard in this part of the citadel. But there were no running feet, no raised voices.

Getting up from her seat, she walked over to the main doors to her apartments and listened for anything untoward. After a moment, she did hear raised voices.

She considered shutting herself in her apartments again and ignoring it, but she felt compelled to learn what had occurred.

Closer to the direction she had heard the voices, she smelled gunpowder and her alarm grew. The raises voices continued, although she couldn't make out what was being said. It sounded angry more than panicked, though, and it was definitely coming from below. The only person down that part of the castle was Mr. Lovegood.

Hermione slowly made her way down the stairs.

"You old buffoon," Terry Boot yelled. "You'll burn the while city down one of these days." He strode past with sharp, intent steps, not noticing Hermione on the landing just above.

"Are you alright, Mr. Lovegood?" she called. The smell of gunpowder was prickling her nose. There was no answer. "Mr. Lovegood?"

"Dancing tricks like a circus dog," Mr. Lovegood muttered as she saw him in a plume of smoke that lingering along the entire ceiling of the room.

"Perhaps we need to open some of the windows," Hermione suggested, looking around to try to find an accessible one.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing here," she heard and turned to see Mr. Lovegood appearing right by her.

"I came to see what the noise was."

"What? Speak, up girl. I can't here you."

"I said, I came to see what the noise was."

"I don't have time to deal with your problems, Lady Nott," he said grumpily in a much too loud voice. Hermione gathered that the explosion had diminished his hearing.

"WHY ARE YOU USING GUNPOWEDER?"

"How else am I going to create fireworks, you stupid girl?"

Hermione gritted her teeth at the rudeness. Mr. Lovegood had never been pleasant, but he seemed particularly prickly today. Perhaps it was the failure of his experiment or even being reprimanded by Terry Boot.

"Perhaps you need to find a more remote location for these experiments," she suggested and received a blaring look from the old man. "Take a few more precautions."

Fireworks. Obviously, Voldemort had some kind of display in mind, and as seemed to be the way, Mr. Lovegood was charged with achieving it. Nearly getting himself killed in the process as well.

=0=

Whatever the fireworks were for, they weren't for the evening's entertainment, which was a performance of veiled dancers.

The atmosphere amongst the courtiers were still a little subdued. They milled amongst each other, while the dancers performed. Hermione wasn't sure where these girls were from, but they were scantily dressed and floated around the floor like fairies. Hopefully nothing untoward would happen to them this evening, because there were a few leering looks directed at them.

Hermione greeted Lord Wildesmith.

"It appears, our esteemed acquaintance is recuperating quite well," he said.

"I believe so," she said.

"A little birdy told me you went to see him."

It appeared her alliance partner was keeping tabs on her. It hardly surprised her. Lord Wildesmith wouldn't trust anyone no matter what they professed, and that included her.

"I went to give my condolences over death of his wife."

"I imagine he's crushed by this turn of events," Wildesmith said sarcastically.

"Well, considering she had tried to murder him, his lack of sympathy is perhaps understandable."

"You are too soft hearted, my dear," he said. "You pity even the vilest creatures."

"I do not pity the end result, perhaps, but more when cruelty is normalized."

"Beautiful and principled. I am not sure Lord Malfoy will be able to restrain himself."

"What do you mean?" Hermione said, turning to him, unsure she wanted to know the answer. But this was not a place where you glossed over unpleasantries, and if someone had insight into how Malfoy's mind worked, she would listen.

"You know full well you have his attention, and he would see little impediment to him ambitions now, will he? It would be an opportunity too great to miss for him."

Were everyone at court expecting they would 'align'? Perhaps they did, but she did not marry for opportunity. They would all have to learn that there would be no alignment between them. Under no circumstances would she let a predator so very close to her. She wasn't one who could guard her heart within her own marriage, and she didn't want to find herself in a position where she had to. Trust was of supreme importance. Malfoy saw things very differently.

"Voldemort would never approve of such an alliance," she said.

Wildesmith smiled.

A hush descended on the room and all eyes turned to the doors that were opening. Draco Malfoy stood there, straight and strong, neatly dressed in black. There was no sign of weakness in his body, but Hermione thought he looked pale. He moved fluidly with graze and measured steps.

"The prodigal son returns," Wildesmith says. "With his favorite now out of the picture, Voldemort needs a new one, and Malfoy has always had his favour. Their marriage had pleased Voldemort inordinately, even though it was effectively a failure. Voldemort doesn't actually like change. Fears it."

Hermione listened intently to what Wildesmith was saying. Rarely did he speak without making a point.

Malfoy milled around the room, chatting to people who were all interested in expressing their joy at seeing him back. How many of them meant it, she wondered? Even Voldemort, who gave him his favor was also weary of him. Maybe he had a right to be, because how far Malfoy was willing to go was something Hermione wasn't certain of. The thought gave her chills.

For a moment, she caught his eye across the room—cool and calm, giving little away other than the fact that they lingered.

"I understand Voldmort is having fireworks prepared," she said to Wildesmith, tearing herself away from Malfoy's attention. "Have you heard any reason?"

"I have heard mention a victory ball planned to celebrate the victory and the strength of Voldemort's empire. It will likely be an extravaganza. Voldemort would want to wipe this period away by turning to more eliciting subjects."

 _Himself,_ Hermione thought bitterly. Perhaps they were overdue something a bit more spectacular from their usual evening festivities. Voldemort had a need to prove his greatness, and now that there was no one left to fight, spectacles had to serve the purpose.

"Lady Nott." A fission of concern snaked up her spine. She hadn't seen him approach. Wildesmith faded away with a reproachful look on his face. Hermione turned.

"Lord Malfoy. I see you are strong enough to join us today."

"Yes."

There was a stiffness in his shoulders that betrayed there was still some discomfort. How much pain would he tolerate to get out of bed, she wondered. "Are you sure you are not pushing yourself too fast."

"It sounds as if you care, Lady Nott."

Hermione's mouth opened, but she couldn't say anything. It would be rude to say no, but equally, she couldn't say yes. "You seem like the kind of person who would rush into something before it was prudent."

"There is much to do. It seems quite a bit has changed—important things."

Opening her mouth, Hermione was about to speak.

"You have seen fit to join us tonight, Lord Malfoy," Voldemort said loudly from his throne, catching the attention of all in the room. "You have recovered from your ordeal, it seems."

Malfoy bowed. "I have."

Voldemort's eyes lingered then shifted to Hermione. Discomfort clenched her stomach as the vile man's attention was on her. She lowered her eyes, not wanting to appear as if she was challenging in any way. Everything was still precarious; just as complicated as before. The state of Malfoy's petition was still unclear, so there was very much an axe still hanging over her.

"An injury many men would have succumbed to. Too stubborn to not have your way, some would say." Voldemort's gaze quickly flicked back to Hermione. "We are all pleased to have you returned to us," he continued and Hermione felt the man's attention shift off her again.

Voldemort looked around in expectation and resounding agreement was heard throughout the hall. Some of that agreement looked forced, however. Malfoy still had enemies; she still had enemies, but she was genuinely happy that he lived and was recovering. How much of that was selfish best interest, she didn't want to examine. There would be uncomfortable truths with whatever the answer was. Other would have preferred it if he recovery wasn't quite so successful, including Wildesmith.

That Malfoy didn't want to appear weak for long was probably in his best interest, even if he appeared here clearly in pain.

"Where were we?" Malfoy said. "Oh yes, I think we were discussing your concern for my health and wellbeing."

"As was just shown, we are all concerned for your health and wellbeing."

Malfoy's lips parted, the action drawing her attention. "Hmm, deflection." His gaze was intent on her and she felt the need to escape. No doubt he was fully aware how uncomfortable he was making her. "Yet not all came to sit by my bedside. But then we are naturally aligned."

"How so?"

"It is my child you are carrying. That is a link that can never be severed."

It was a hard point to counter. How could she say it was a link that meant nothing? In all honesty, she couldn't, but it simply wasn't a link that she would allow him to capitalize on.


	43. Chapter 43

Chapter 43

"My liege," Malfoy said, looking away and up to where Voldemort was sitting conducting conversation with Madame Gwenoch, who if she hadn't installed herself as his lover was working her way toward that objective. Hermione hadn't seen her for a little while, but it seemed she was back. "I believe there is still a small matter to settle when you are of mind."

Hermione battled an impulse to hurt him. Here was the reason he was present; the reason he had dragged himself out of bed—to continue his game, his quest. Apparently, once he had a target, he didn't give up for anything, not even recuperating.

"I'm not sure this is the time nor the place, Lord Malfoy," Voldemort said with a sly smile.

"I couldn't agree more," Hermione said distastefully.

"Perhaps you should seek an audience with me in the morning."

"Yes, let's do that."

Hermione walked away, angry and disgusted. Why did he have to push this? Well, she knew he was going to, but wished he would just leave it be for a moment, but that wasn't him. He pushed and pushed until he got what he wanted.

Part of her wondered if she should flee in the night. There was real temptation there, but there was also so much to lose. In the end, it would not be a strategy that would work in her favor. And if things went against her, it wasn't as if they would rip the baby out of her belly. There was time to consider her choices and to act as she needed to. She would act if it came down to it.

In the morning, they would meet, which meant she only had a few hours to work on her defense. Damn Malfoy for doing this—all of it. She had to take some of the blame for sleeping with him. How could she have been so stupid? Even without the baby, she had simply been handing him leverage. All that talk about nothing they did mattered that night, that it had been the night for doing the things they wouldn't allow themselves to do. The consequences had been monumental for her, all for being silly and giving into… desire. Mesmerized by a viper, more like.

No, she had to get these emotions—this anger—under control. Things had changed and where did that put her claim. Or was it illogical to apply legal precedents to this? Didn't Voldemort simply do what he wanted anyway?

Voldemort liked to be contrary, to stir the pot. The one thing in her favor was that he would probably rather deny Malfoy than her. Maybe she could play up on that, on Malfoy's sense of entitlement if she got a chance to speak, to defend her corner.

She felt sick and her feet ached. It wasn't so much morning sickness as that seemed to be alleviating now. It was a more general nausea, brought on by stress. All this stress couldn't be good for the baby. She would have to find some mechanisms for relaxing, and maybe she could highlight that this bickering was making her and the baby unwell and that perhaps this was an issue that needed to be settled at a later date, when the baby was born. Ideally, once the baby was hidden back at the Nott estate and out of sight.

It was an unhappy end to the evening for Hermione. All she wanted to do was go home and cry, even as she knew it would do no good. Perhaps she could beseech clemency with Voldemort to let her go spend time at her estate. There was certainly cause for her to say it had been an inordinately stressful time, considering recent events.

=0=

Sheer tiredness had claimed her and made her sleep. Her body's demands seemed to overrule emotional distress and she woke up feeling somewhat refreshed. The bump on her belly was growing and she rubbed the smooth curves as she lay in bed. It was so different from when Tabain was growing in her belly when she had been happy and in love. Theo had adored her belly, had found it erotic and she'd felt beautiful.

Closing her eyes, she grieved the things she'd lost. For a moment, she didn't even regret the cruelty of Astoria's death. She deserved it for the things she'd done, the damage and loss she'd caused.

Hermione's heart felt tender as she forced herself out of bed. A brutal day lay ahead of her and all thoughts of softness and comfort had to be put to side. It was time to battle. She had her strategies in place and she had to pit her objectives against Malfoy.

Sadly, so much of this was dependent on Voldemort's mood, and his moods could be erratic. A bad evening could leave him grumpy, but then grumpy could be in her favor. But the baseline for him was hoping he wasn't feeling homicidal. With a sigh, Hermione acknowledged the truth of the statement.

It was time to be strong, time to fight. She dressed more somberly, wearing a darker gown. For a moment, she considered wearing something lighter, something more feminine, that might convey that she was being unjustly bullied. It was a ploy that some females used with him, particularly Madam Gwenoch, who still strongly vied for his attention. It was definitely a ploy he seemed susceptible to, but then he might see her as too weak to protect this child.

Checking the clock, Hermione saw that it was time to go. Time to battle.

The pearls around her neck felt like they were choking her, but showing wealth and strength was the best strategy, she had concluded.

A clerk had to tell her where the liege was that morning and she was directed to one of the ante rooms of his personal chambers. Malfoy was already there and stood looking calm as he turned to see her approaching.

"Lady Nott. I hope you slept well, considering the importance of this morning." Was he teasing her?

"I'm pregnant. I would sleep through a war."

"Ah," he said, apparently surprised. As his wife had never been pregnant, he probably knew nothing about the peculiarities of it. "Then I hope this isn't too taxing for you."

"See I wonder if you think that if you make this taxing enough, I will just give up and relent. You have no understanding of mothers, Lord Malfoy."

He didn't say anything and Hermione refused to let his attention draw her, instead kept her gaze on the gray and windy weather outside. There was now an uncomfortable silence between them.

The doors opened and Voldemort appeared, his robes billowing as he entered the room. He did like to make a dramatic entrance.

"Now, what business have we?" he said, taking a seat and crossing his legs.

"The issue of the Malfoy heir," Malfoy said with a small bow. "An issue which had ensued in unprecedented dramatics in my court."

"It is an issue of high importance."

Voldemort pursed his lips and considered them. "Your wife took great issue to the petition. Lost her life in the process."

"It was her unruly sense of entitlement that lost her her life," Malfoy said.

"Yes, perhaps. But the loss of that life changes things considerably, Lord Malfoy. There are now no impediments stopping you from claiming your child in a most natural way. The justice of this court should not be engaged because you cannot convince the lady from marrying you." He shifted his hand loftily.

"As you say," Malfoy said tersely. Hermione stopped herself from smiling. Voldemort was coming down on her side. He had ruled and she had won. Rather, Malfoy had lost. "We will bother you no further."

Hermione could see the tension in Malfoy's shoulders. He wasn't taking this loss well, and he walked out of the room.

"Thank you," Hermione said.

"Don't thank me, Lady Nott. Do I need to tell you that this is hardly over? Malfoy doesn't let setbacks stop him. Perseverance is his strongest suit."

"If you think he will succeed anyway, why not just give him what he wants?"

"I like Malfoy to be entertained and distracted. How long it will be before you fold, we will have to see."

"I can't afford to fold."

"I know," he smiled. "Malfoy will run over you like mouse on the road."

"I am no mouse."

"We will just have to see. Leave me."

Hermione curtseyed and left the room. Voldemort was probably right. This wasn't over. Malfoy would just have to find a new tack. But she was no mouse. This was not going to end with her relenting. A mother defending her young is the fiercest creature in existence, and both Malfoy and Voldemort would come to learn that.

In the dramatic turn of events, she had forgotten to ask for permission to retire to her estates. It was too late now and she was kicking herself. Then again, with his enthusiasm to keep watching this showdown between her and Malfoy, he was unlikely to say yes.


	44. Chapter 44

Chapter 44

Malfoy stayed away from her that evening. His presence didn't, however. Hermione felt him in the room, felt his attention on her. He'd taken a loss today, but he was regrouping. It did give her some time to relax, because the immediate threat had been eliminated. She had persevered this time.

Voldemort had effectively ruled that he had to get her to acquiesce to marriage for Malfoy to claim this child, so perhaps she was safe. Not that Malfoy would stop trying. It could be that he would pursue even more dangerous strategies, but she had the final word, and it was something that could not be circumvented.

Tonight, she would take the liberty of putting it out of her mind. She would enjoy the food and the music, and relish her victory. If people knew about it, she didn't know. No one had mentioned anything to her, but she didn't care. Astoria never understood that what these people thought didn't matter much. What Voldemort thought did, obviously. Well, saying that, the opinion of the court was something Voldemort cared about, so it was perhaps unwise to say public opinion didn't matter. It was the level of public opinion that mattered, and Malfoy had more enemies than he had friends. A lifetime of brutal political moves would do that to you. Her only victim was Malfoy himself.

At this point, she needed to keep her alliances strong, and this victory would help with that. Maybe she could even propose that it was time they strengthened it.

She danced with a young Lord Wollenbeck, aware that she was being watched by Malfoy. If only he would accept a loss, things would be perfect. But right now, she had bought herself some time to be free of worry.

Shortly after the dance, she felt exhaustion nip at her. The stressful morning had given to a day where she had floated on a cloud of victory—her enemy vanquished. With a few nods to people she drifted out of the room, knowing that she had not looked back, not acknowledged him. Was ignoring him making it worse, was it stoking his ire? No, Malfoy didn't give himself to emotions—good or bad.

=0=

The gardens were not perhaps at their best, but it was peaceful and she made the best of it to calm her mind and her heart. She ached for her son and even this child inside her that she had yet to meet. Would the child be fair like Malfoy? Luminous hair and cool gray eyes? In a way, she hoped not.

Deep in her heart, she feared that she would not love this child as much because of the complications of its origins, but equally, she knew that wasn't true. She would fall in love with him or her as soon as she saw it, even if it was an exact copy of its father. Hopefully, that would not pose dangers when it came to the large, infinitely more dangerous version.

Rising from her bench, she moved along the pond. What were the chances that he was observing her? Maybe she needed to find some other garden to use as she couldn't quite escape her problems if he sat above her and watched her, even if it meant trudging along endless corridors of the citadel. There was no sign of a head in the windows of his apartments though.

Maybe if her situation was stable now, she could consider bringing Tabain back. The person seeking to harm her—correction the person seeking to harm her the most—had been eliminated. It hadn't been Astoria that had made Hermione send Tabain away, it had been Voldemort and his irrational and murderous temper.

If she kept Tabain out of sight, maybe he would be safe, but she knew she was being selfish. Tabain would be accessible if Voldemort sought to hurt her in one of his tempers. Voldemort was more reasonable given time to calm down, which made Tabain safer at the estate, away from the immediacy of Voldemort's outbursts.

It was getting cold standing in the wind coming off the plains of the valley. Being stuck in the citadel, one often forgot that there was a world outside. It was so absorbing with its dangers, despair and victories. Breathing deeply in the fresh air, Hermione decided to return to her apartments.

Mr. Lovegood's door was closed as she walked past, continuing up the stairs. The empire celebration had been announced for a few days' time, and hopefully Mr. Lovegood had taken her advice and was conducting his experimentation somewhere more safe.

Reaching her floor, Hermione was distracted by a noise down the hall. Her heart sped up, knowing it was likely to be one person, and any confrontation between them these days was highly uncomfortable. Who was she fooling? Any dealings between them had been highly uncomfortable since the day she'd arrived—even the intimacy that had been, which could only be described as explosive.

But it wasn't Malfoy; it was Pansy, to Hermione's surprise. She wore yellow, which did suit her skin tone well, and she carried a black fan in her hand. "Lady Nott," she said in her sweet voice.

The fact that she was here and walking in this direction, meant that she was walking away from Malfoy's apartments. Something ugly reared inside Hermione, and she attributed it to disgust. Perhaps it was loathing at Malfoy's taste, and not just for the fact that Pansy was married. But then loyalty had never featured in Malfoy's marriage. Why should she be surprised if he didn't respect loyalty in other marriages? Not that Pansy had ever professed by word or action to be particularly a particularly devoted wife.

"Lady Vaultiers, I hope I find you well this morning."

"Quite."

Images of Pansy and Malfoy in bed tried to invade Hermione's mind, but she pushed them away. With a tight smile, she gave Pansy a nod, hoping the woman would pass as quickly as possible. Maybe these two deserved each other, she thought.

Pansy walked and then stopped again, partially turning to consider Hermione—obviously wanting to say something. "He hasn't given up, you know," she said.

Well, that was rich, coming from the person he'd just had a tryst with. Was she consoling him on the end of his marriage, perhaps? Revulsion tightened Hermione throat. "So I have heard," she said coldly. "Hopefully you can distract him."

"Me?" Pansy said with a tinkling laugh. "Oh, do you think there is something between us? That is precious. Jealous? Maybe things will be easier for Malfoy than expected."

Hermione crossed her arms.

"No, we've been speaking of you, actually. Strategizing. He's quite obsessed, you know."

"Obsessed with having his way."

"Perhaps. Don't take him for a stupid man."

"Care to share?" Hermione asked.

Pansy laughed. "Where would be the fun in that, but I think he's hit the mark this time. He thinks so, too."

"He hasn't managed so far."

"Yet you did spread your legs for him, didn't you? More than once, I heard."

Oh, wonderful, Malfoy had been talking about their unfortunate assignations to one of the biggest gossips at court.

"He is banking on that you will again," Pansy continued, "and judging on how jealous you were just now, seeing me leaving his apartments, I reckon he has an excellent chance."

"I was _not_ jealous. I would welcome him finding distraction somewhere."

"Believe me, he is not distracted. I would say he has a singular focus. Ta," Pansy said with a weak wave of her fan.

Hermione felt like swearing, but she kept her calm until Pansy had sashayed away, still laughing. Oh how she despised that woman. What she hated more was the idea that Malfoy now had a plan. From what Pansy said, it sounded like seduction was his chosen way. The saddest part was that she was susceptible. Equally, it wasn't going to get her to say yes, even if she at some point was weak and relented—not that she was going to.


	45. Chapter 45

Chapter 4 _5_

 _The celebration has held on the south lawn, a vast expanse outside the walls of the citadel itself. A feast had been prepared and entertainers of all kinds performed during the evening, including fire dancers with their roaring flames across the night sky. There were even palm readers in red, velvet tents._

 _All glittered, but up close, there was a shabbiness to all the costumes of the entertainers, a harshness in their eyes. Ladies and Lords mingled, enjoying the spectacle, adding colour and laughter to the whole affair. Voldemort had outdone himself. It was the finest evening she had experienced at court so far._

 _Hermione watched as a half-naked man with glistening skin swallowed a sword, his chest oiled and reflecting light. Further along, there were a couple of contortionists_ —twins or sisters by the look of them. Music played with a heavy beat, almost anodyne in its rhythmic beating of drums. The night that had an almost otherworldly quality—the kind of night Hermione knew to be wary of. She was not free to leave the realities of this place behind or to forget herself in the festivities. Too much trouble had ensued last time.

With interest, she walked around and watched the entertainment. How she would have enjoyed this had Theo been with her. He had appeared in her thoughts quite a bit of late, how she missed him, missed being married to him. Although Theo would never have brought her here, throughout their time together, he'd sought to protect her. Under the longing, there was also an anger that he hadn't shared the burden with her. She was strong enough. She'd more than proved that. Why hadn't he recognized that, believed in her?

Familiar faces laughed and drank. It was a night for relaxation, and for celebration—even if Hermione struggled to celebrate Voldemort and his achievements. To the people of court, he was the protector of their wealth and privilege, even if, as Astoria had said, they were all sheep, doing anything he told them to do. Then again, the price for not complying was harsh.

By the mood of the celebration, she knew there would be drinking that night, loss of inhibitions spurred by scantily clad performers and maybe because it felt like they were actually away from the citadel for once.

"Lady Nott." Malfoy was there beside her and she turned to him. He was wearing a heavier coat to guard against the colder winds, lined with fur. The chance of running into him had probably been high, and now it seemed he had his next strategy in place for dealing with her.

"Lord Malfoy."

"Are you enjoying the evening?"

"I am," she said honestly. _Provided you don't ruin it for me_.

"What had caught your imagination?"

"Hmm, perhaps the fire dancers."

"There is a certain sensuality to fire—controlling a dangerous element, one that wishes to burn us to the core if it had its way."

"Fire doesn't wish. It just is," she stated.

"If you say so. I have always feared fire."

"I didn't think you feared anything."

"Only a fool doesn't fear. But tonight is for seeking pleasure," he said as if changing the subject.

"Then you must go seek yours. Don't let me hold you up."

"Perhaps I have found where I want to be."

"Are you seeking to flatter me into accepting your suit?" Hermione said with a raised eyebrow.

"I haven't actually put my suit toward you yet."

"Ah, well, then, let's play games."

"No games, Lady Nott." He was looking away, standing with his hands clasped around his back.

"Really, I ran into Lady Vaultiers in the hall yesterday and she said that you had settled on your new strategy."

"So I have," he admitted, returning his attention to her. There was no leering superiority in his expression, just the blankness he often did. What did that mean? It was infuriating, because he only conveyed what he wanted to, no more, no less.

"Well, good luck."

"I won't need luck. The thing with defeating an enemy is knowing their weaknesses."

"And you know mine?"

"I do, and I will use them to get what I want."

Hermione snorted. "I would like to see you try."

"No, you won't, but you will get it all the same."

"And what is this great weakness of mine that you will seek to leverage?"

"Emotions."

"Emotions," she repeated, a little incredulously. "You seek to use my emotions against me?"

"No, I seek to use mine."

"You don't have emotions."

"Granted I have tried very hard to suppress them. They have categorically been starved into nothingness, I admit, but I realize, Lady Nott, that only my suffering will defeat the walls you have placed against me."

He was mad. "Squeezing out a tear isn't going to sway me, Lord Malfoy."

"I'm not an idiot. I know that pretense emotions will not sway you. They have to be real, hence, I have to dig out my black little heart from where I've buried it and give it to you."

"What makes you think I will accept."

"Because you can't help yourself. Once I awaken that longing—the longing for my wife and my family."

Hermione could only stare at him, wondering if he was mad, but knew better than that. He was serious and he believed every word he said. Longing. A chard of pain twisted her heart because she knew what longing was. It ached like a hungry ghost, never able to find relief. "I am not your wife."

"I already consider you to be. It is my child you carry."

The audaciousness of what he was saying was astounding. "Your heir, you mean."

"Does it disturb you so much to think that it could mean more to me?" He stepped closer, reaching out his hand to her bump. She shouldn't let him, should push him away. His hand was firm against the velvet of her dress. It had actually been a long time since he'd touched her, and so intimately. "That is my child," he repeated, his eyes lingering lower. "If you require me to love it, then I will love it, and I will suffer if you keep it from me." His eyes returned to her.

"You are trying to blackmail me."

He smiled slowly. "Absolutely." His hand was still on her, the touch radiating heat along her skin. "Naturally, it is a strategy that carries come risk, but it is perhaps those same risks that are the key to its success."

"And what risk are those."

"I must expose what I have always guarded, disclose the means to hurt me. Perhaps even worse. A bit perverse, in a sense, isn't it, Lady Nott? To defeat you, I have to arm you with the weapon to destroy me."

"If there is a heart for you to uncover, that is," she said, trying to make light of this conversation, but it didn't reflect the uncomfortable lump in her throat. An unfortunate side effect was that this left her feeling a bit vulnerable as well, because he was spot on. True emotions from Draco Malfoy would bite, but did she believe it was possible? She hoped not.

"We will find out." His hand slipped away from the intrusive touch that had left her feeling so vulnerable. Why had she let him touch her? Because there was some part of her that felt he had the right, even if she was never going to give the child to him. Maybe there was something perverse in her that wished he could feel a connection with this child.

The fact that he was going to use this, to deliberately pursue it was beyond disturbing. And to inform her off it was pure arrogance. Draco Malfoy was a dangerous creature when stone cold calculating. What would he be like driven by emotions? It couldn't happen. It wasn't in his nature.

Hermione watched as he walked away. He had successfully left her feeling exposed and vulnerable, with a handprint still glowing warm on her belly. She should not have let him do that. It wasn't his right. If only she could fully convince herself of that.

Licking her lips, she tried to reorganize her thoughts. He'd only told her what he threatened to do and had already wreaked havoc inside her. What would he be like if he actually achieved it? It was his coldness that kept her heart closed to him. Him pining for her, wanting her would be unbearable. How could she keep her heart closed if he ached for her, or this child? She had to. There was too much to lose. It didn't matter. He would never be able to do it. It would be too taxing for him.

Pansy had been right: he was clever, much to clever, and he knew her too well. It would undermine every one of her defenses. In all, he was the consummate player, even if he would harm himself to achieve what he wanted. This alone she had to keep in mind, like a mantra. This was all to get what he wanted.


	46. Chapter 46

Chapter 4 _6_

An invitation to tea sat on Hermione's breakfast table. It was from Pansy and at first, Hermione had dismissed it with a shake of her head, but perhaps it was prudent to keep an eye on those women. Pansy wouldn't have sent an invitation without a reason, so there was something she wanted.

If this had to do with Astoria's fate, she didn't dare guess. Somehow, she didn't see Pansy as sentimental about a lost friendship. Then again, Hermione had seen Pansy stab Astoria in the back when she wasn't there to defend herself. It could have been that Pansy saw the friendship as a prudent move, a way of keeping the volatile and destructive woman on side. It would be one way to keep away from her barbs.

But now they wanted something, and it wouldn't just be Pansy. Her circle would be there as well, and maybe it was time to hear what these women were gossiping about. No doubt she had been the topic for long enough.

Hermione decided that she would go. It would also serve as a distraction from Malfoy and his incessant ability to get inside her head. His proclamation the previous night had felt like a warning. Duly warned, she was. Still, what he'd said was utterly ludicrous. Him fall in love. It was an impossible feat.

It wasn't something you can just decide to do, create feelings. The idea of a more volatile Malfoy, fuelled by emotions wasn't exactly appealing either. He was difficult enough to manage when he was stone cold heartless.

Had the women heard what he'd said? Had he told them? Was it part of his strategy having them chattering around her, pushing his cause? He would do something so despicable.

Sighing, Hermione put her mug down. Her belly protruded slightly. This pregnancy was starting to show, a physical reminder of the link and quarrel between her and Malfoy for every single person that sees her. Everywhere she went, people would notice it. The ladies at Pansy's afternoon tea would notice it.

Taking her time, she walked over to her desk and wrote a quick reply. A pull of her bell and an elf appeared, ready to take it back to Pansy. There were other letters on her desk from her estate and she spent the next hour dealing with those.

The need to see Tabain sat like an ache in her chest. She would send a request to Voldemort for permission to return. Things were stable. No one was actively targeting her, and until the day Malfoy managed to produce some emotions, she was relatively safe from him as well. Her last missive was for Voldemort, but there was no calling whether he would agree or not.

=0=

After lunch, she dressed, putting on the finery needed for when she left her apartments. The gown she'd chosen was of white silk with light blue underskirt. It was sumptuous with pearl buttons and a square neckline. The dress itself was heavy, but it felt like armor.

A maid came to assist with her hair, which needed to be dressed to suit the gown, but a little less formal than for an evening. Amongst Pansy's set, fashion was an important topic. Hermione remembered back to the first time she'd gone to one of Pansy's teas. How naïve she'd been and how adamant that displays of fashion was pointless.

By necessity, she had changed so much, understood more deeply how things worked and how she fit into it—how to utilize it. In a way, she missed the person she had been. In some ways, she hadn't changed at all. She hadn't fundamentally changed her values; she was just more wary of the people around her, their objectives and the duplicity they would engage in to achieve it.

The one thing she liked about Malfoy was that he laid out everything he was going do to. It was up to her to stop him if she could, and he refused to take any blame if she couldn't. It almost made it worse, watching a disaster unfolding in slow motion without having the means to stop it. It was a unique brand of powerlessness.

Maybe Malfoy's attention did serve her in some way. If not for him, she would get too comfortable in her situation and would probably grow careless—secure in her alliance and keeping all foes at arm's length. Malfoy made her feel on edge every single moment.

Surveying the maid's work in the mirror, Hermione was satisfied and smiled at the girl, who curtseyed and slipped away. It was as if the girl was fearful when there really was no need. Who was it that held sway over the maids and why were they so fearful. It might be one thing for Hermione to tell them there was nothing to fear, but she couldn't back that up. She didn't know what pressures were placed over these girls, or the elves, pages or clerks. As perilous as it was being a guest at Voldemort's court, it had to be worse being a servant. Voldemort's reserve of kindness wasn't exactly vast.

Leaving her apartments, Hermione made her way to Pansy's, which were in another part of the citadel. Hermione knew the way. Over time she had learned the main thoroughfares between the sections of the citadel, and could now make her own way to places she had been before.

An elf answered quickly as Hermione pulled the bell at Pansy's door. The décor inside the apartment was completely different from the last time she'd been there. The white and icy blues had been replaced by warm red hues. Deep red velvet covered the furniture and draped the windows, but there were also pinks, mauves and oranges.

"You have redecorated," Hemione said as Pansy approached her with her hands outstretched.

"Yes, I got tired of the old and felt something else was needed. With the cold returning, I felt it was time for something a little more warming."

"Of course. It is an inviting space." A large fire was roaring on the grate.

"Come," Pansy said, holding her hand. She wore an emerald green gown made of silk. It fit the décor of the apartments while Hermione's white and light blue didn't. "It's been so long since we've seen you, we felt it was time you came and spent some time with us. Your schedule is busy, of course."

Pansy's attitude to her was radically different from the last time she had been there as well. Back then, she had been the tolerated victim brought in for their amusement. Now, she was the one above them on the power scales, not least for the fact that she was an entity in this court for her own sake, not an attachment to her husband.

"You are showing," Florence Yaxley said, her eyes on Hermione stomach. "You must be so excited about a new babe."

"You will need an entirely new wardrobe, of course," Pansy said, daintily taking her seat on the sofa and pouring tea of a delicate-looking porcelain tea service.

"Yes," Hermione said. "New gowns are required." So far, she had managed to squeeze into her own, but increasingly, they were getting tighter and tighter.

"Malfoy must be very excited as well," Alicia Fudge said and Hermione felt the atmosphere change, or perhaps it was just her. It felt like cold water was being poured on her and she knew the women were testing her for a reaction.

"I wouldn't know," she replied. "It is not something that has been discussed."

They weren't quite so bold as to directly question her. "Your boy must be very excited about becoming a big brother," Alice said nervously, breaking the awkward silence.

"Of course," Hermione replied, stirring the tiny silver teaspoon in her dainty teacup. The awkward silence returned, the women all looking at her, unable to ask the questions they wanted to. Hermione wondered what was festering in their heads, like questions of if she and Malfoy would marry. All her public actions had been to the contrary, but her stance to not marry him was probably something they didn't understand. They would slip under his protection and into his wealth in a heartbeat. Perhaps even keen to slip under him.

Pansy would have tried, Hermione realized. She'd been too busy with her own problems to consider that these women now considered him as available and out of Astoria's reach. Not that he was ever under Astoria's control, but they couldn't go near him for that reason. None of them were available for marriage, but that didn't seem to matter to many in this court when it came to lovers.

It was another issue that could derail Malfoy's plans. These women would actively seek to become his lover and it could be that he was distracted by one of them. Distraction wasn't normally something he indulged in, but by sheer nature of them trying, he would be.

"Some men are not distracted by such things," Hermione found herself saying. "Babies and domesticity is never something that truly calls to them, is it? It isn't in their nature; too occupied by other things." Theo had loved becoming a father, but even he'd had his limit to how much time he could spend in the nursery. "In this case, as the child is not going to be Malfoy's heir, I expect his interest will never quite materialize. But he is free now to pursue his own objectives."

Hermione smiled, feeling like she'd achieved two things: dispelled any belief these women held that marriage between them was going to happen, and also encourage them to focus on Malfoy's eventual probability of focusing his attention elsewhere.

"Astoria's death does change his situation quite dramatically," Alicia said.

"I wonder where his attention will turn?" Hermione said lightly. In a way, she felt bad giving all the wonderful women in this court the implicit permission for pursuing Malfoy as a lover. Her permission wasn't necessarily required, because these women wouldn't stop going after what they wanted for her, but it might just give them that nudge, that sense of urgency. "Malfoy is single and in dire need of an heir, but for how long?"

"If you truly do not wish to have him, a second potential heir would distract his attention away."

"An alignment between our houses would not be something Voldemort would smile on," Hermione said with forced gravitas. It wasn't a false statement. "A different alignment would suit Voldemort in the end."

Granted, Malfoy was strong and had single-minded determination beyond any man she knew, but so did these women. Hermione could practically see the gleam in Pansy's eyes.


	47. Chapter 47

Chapter 47

The summons for the day's entertainment arrived like normal. Of late, Voldemort had seemed sullen whenever they'd seen him, and he had the habit to treating his own bad moods in whichever way he saw fit. Hopefully there wouldn't be a masquerade in their near future, but Hermione had a feeling that Voldemort would do something.

Not today, though. Today's summons was for an afternoon party in one of the gardens. Voldemort seemed to be going in the light and soft direction at the moment, where he created an image of joyful and peaceful coexistence.

A lighter gown was required, fitting into the soft image Voldemort had in mind. It was almost as if he was painting images with real figures and they were all mannequins in his vision of the man and king he wished to be. The scariest thing was that she supposed quite a few people would choose to be here if they had a choice. As mad as Voldemort was, this was still where the power was, and power meant everything.

She, on the other hand, would be gone in a heartbeat if doing so didn't constitute a threat to her family. But others would not, irrespective of how perilous this court was. Power, and the pursuit of power, drove people to put up with anything. It was a sad truth. Malfoy was one of them. If he had the opportunity to be anywhere he wanted, he would still be here.

Was she warm enough for the weather, she wondered as she made her way to the designated garden for this afternoon party. Ornate glass doors led to the greenery outside, but she was met with silence. There was no chattering of gathered people. Instead she heard bird song. The small, drab creatures had made their way down into this walled garden, which was really too small to entertain the entire court.

She turned. Did she have the wrong place? Turning back to the door, Malfoy stood there looking calm and almost a little pleased.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"I thought we should spend some time together. A picnic."

"A picnic?"

"Yes, a picnic. It is what people do when they're courting."

"We are not courting, and our absence will be noticed. Voldemort will not like it if we don't comply with his decrees."

"Voldemort is not in the citadel at the moment."

"But—?" Hermione said, confusion pulling her brow together until she realized. "You lied. You sent me the summons."

"I did. You wouldn't have come otherwise. And now that you are here, it would hurt my feelings if you say no."

"We both know you don't have any feelings."

"How do you know that? I have been doing some hard and deep reflection in that regard."

Hermione snorted. "Have you searched your heart and concluded that you really, really, really want my land."

Malfoy tsked. "So cruel."

"Realism is not cruelty. Fantasy is just fantasy."

"Still, I have prepared a full picnic and it would be cruel to spurn the efforts of the elves who put their time and energy in to making you happy this afternoon."

"Oh, blackmail. My heart is warming already."

With his hand, Malfoy indicated to a blanket where a basket sat. She hadn't noticed it before as she'd been looking for people. "This garden has a little micro climate," he said. "So it appears warm even when the winds are brutal outside."

Hermione refused to budge, wondering if she should turn her back and march out of the garden. It was a sweet gesture, though, and she was curious what he had in mind. Did he think this would seduce her? Part of her wanted to see how he would try.

"I can't believe you lied to me," she stated.

"I didn't lie. You assumed the missive was from Voldemort. It didn't actually say."

"Guised to be a missive from him. That is lying."

"That isn't a lie, though. And you _will_ forgive me because I have summer berries and cream."

Hermione bit her lip. "How in the world did you get summer berries?"

"I have my secrets. They say berries are good for growing bellies. And maybe you can sit down and explain how, all of a sudden, I've received an invitation to dine with just about with every woman at court."

Hermione smiled broadly. "Well, you are the most eligible bachelor on the block. The ladies of court must have realized what a catch you are."

"The timing is just a little curious, though," he said, looking up at her from the blanket, where he'd stretched out. "Everywhere I go, a woman is propositioning me."

"That must be very difficult for you," Hermione said with false sympathy.

Malfoy reached for a strawberry off a plate and bit into it. It looked delicious and Hermione's mouth watered when he closed his eyes, savoring the flavor. He certainly knew how to tempt her.

"So, what exactly did you say to them?" he said.

"Who?"

"The ladies of court."

"I didn't exactly say anything. I might have been invited to tea with Pansy. Perhaps I insinuated that Voldemort would look badly on a joining between the houses of Nott and Malfoy."

"Is that so? Then again, he did mention marriage during the petition ruling, didn't he? Some could take that as implicit support for the concept."

"I'm not having this conversation," Hermione said, turning to leave.

"Fine, we don't discuss it further. Have a berry. I brought them especially for you and it would be a shame to let them go to waste. It was rather difficult to get them here."

Hermione sighed. What was she going to do with him? Categorically, she wasn't going to marry him, but he was the most engaging person in the court. For all he was, he was more interesting person to talk to than everyone else who lived here. She could see why Theo had liked him so much.

"Fine," she relented. "But only for the berries." Perhaps she should just walk out the door, but she couldn't help being curious. Obviously, his strategy was never going to work. A leopard didn't change its spots, and him suddenly turning into a creature that would twist her heart with empathy was highly unlikely.

He looked pleased when she sat down on the blanket.

"Don't get ahead of yourself. Berries are hardly going to get me to change my mind."

"So, you are using me for my berries?"

"Absolutely. In fact, why don't we discuss who would make a good wife for you. There are some very well-endowed contenders. Some very rich young ladies, also widows. Think of all that additional land that is so easily within your reach. You simply have to snap your fingers and it's a done deal."

Malfoy gave her a warning look. "Do you believe I am always trying to gain financially?"

"You did marry a mad woman for political leverage."

"Touché. Taking the easy route, however, would defeat this new campaign to develop my emotional side."

"How are you faring in that regard?" Hermione said with false concern in her voice. Malfoy and emotions simply didn't go together, and it was a dreadful thought, considering how scary he was when completely rational. Him driven by emotions would probably be terrifying. "Managed to find some feelings somewhere deep down inside you? I think you've set yourself on a wild goose chase. Might be better off to leave this foolish mission behind and get on with being you in all your glorious unrelenting practicality."

Leaning back, he closed his eyes and lay in the pale sunlight. "Irrespective of what you are going to do, or not, I am about to be a father."

Suddenly, Hermione had difficulty finding something to say. She had always assumed that if he had nothing to gain from the child, he would lose interest quickly. "There are much easier ways. I think we can safely say that the barrenness in your marriage didn't come from your side. When you marry, you can have all the children you want."

"What if our child ends up not agreeing with your decision. You are robbing him of both a name and an estate, a chance to claim his place in this world."

"That will be a burden I have to bear."

"You said you could not let me have this child because I wouldn't be able to love it." He turned to her, supporting his head with his elbow. "But what if I do?"

"Slow down a little," she said. "Don't get ahead of yourself here. You have yet to present that black, little heart of yours, and you are banking on that swaying me to the point where I will stop caring what's best for my family. You still have an absolutely impossible road ahead of you. You should give up. You can have some other woman with child next week if you worked at it. I'm sure you won't find it too onerous."

"But how would I feel if I turned my back on this child, my own child?"

"You'll feel terrible, so best to do this while you still feel absolutely nothing."

"You're heartless," he said with a grin.

"That makes two of us."

He was studying her now, as if reassessing his tactics. That was his way, try something, retreat to try something else. And maybe she shouldn't be here having a picnic with his so he could try his various strategies out. Then again, what harm could it do? It wasn't as if he was suddenly going to put his entire upbringing and personality to side and become an emotional, loving man. She could not forget that this was all a means to an end for him—nothing more.


	48. Chapter 48

Chapter 48

Her request to go to her estate had been denied. The offending parchment sat on her desk. _It was not a good time_ , it said. Why wasn't it a good time? How could this not be a good time? When was? Impotent anger coursed through her veins, even as she knew there wasn't anything she could do but comply. Still, that wasn't enough explanation.

Well, maybe she should ask for when would be a good time. She couldn't just meekly accept. Voldemort wasn't her father. This was her child and she hadn't seen him for much too long. Alternatively, she could suggest that Tabain come here for a short time. It was the less favorable option, but she needed to see her son.

Leaving her apartments, she made her way to the administrative wing of the citadel. She knew where it was now and it put pressure on them if she came in person. She wanted an answer.

A clerk met her as she arrived and she said she'd come to speak to Terry Boot. The clerk was nervous and congenial, asking her to follow him. It had been some time ago that she had realized that all the staff here were terrified of unsetting any of the courtiers. No doubt, Voldemort didn't take kindly to it when his courtiers complained about their treatment. It was perhaps wrong to use that fear, but she needed to get something done.

Terry sat in a small, cold room with stone walls. This desk was tatty and scarred, piled high with letters and parchments. She held out the letter declining her request.

"I need to know more," she stated. "If not now, I need to know when I can. I have an estate to run and it does, at times, need my presence."

Terry looked sickly, a blanket lying across his lap. He looked displeased with her presence, but then he had from the moment she'd arrived. The treatment he'd showed her back then was something he wouldn't dare now. He'd thought she was a pushover, someone who didn't belong here and who would have been weeded out within a couple of weeks of arriving. How wrong he'd been.

"I need a date when I can go," she demanded.

He sat silently for a moment, as if trying to think of what to say. "It's not a good time."

"It's not a good time for me to be away from my estate either." Suddenly, she wondered if Voldemort had answered her request at all or if it was Terry denying her because of whatever prejudice he carried. Her blood still made her unworthy in the eyes of some and they were using whatever means they had to prove it. It was funny that it even came from those outcasts she was supposed to belong with. Prejudice came from all sides, it seemed.

Terry sighed. "There is trouble on the roads. We cannot guarantee your safety."

"What do you mean trouble on the roads?"

"One of the areas you have to travel through is being problematic at the moment. Travel through some areas has been restricted until the lawlessness has been dealt with. A gang of highwaymen are plaguing the area, robbing anyone who passes." Terry pursed his lips. "Voldemort's guard is dealing with it. It shouldn't take long."

"What area?"

"None of your concern, Lady Nott. Voldemort can deal with his business sufficiently well."

"My estate and family is there. If there is a threat, I need to know."

"It is well contained, and the problem is being seen to, Lady Nott. I am assuming, of course, that your estate is in some ways defended."

"Of course." She didn't like the tone he used.

Malfoy had mentioned something about Voldemort not being in the citadel. This must have been what he was tending to. Whatever leaders he would find for this gang, they would suffer heinously. Some said that Voldemort had mellowed slightly in recent years, that he wasn't quite so indiscriminate in who he meted out his retribution to.

=0=

Voldemort's absence gave them a couple of days without any planned activities, but that ended the day her returned, when a notice of ball was sent out. The problem of lawlessness must have been dealt with.

Taking a breath, Hermione prepared herself for the evening before nodding to the elves manning the entrance to the ballroom. The door swept open to a brightly lit room contrasting from the darkness of the halls she had walked through. She wore a deep blue silk gown that night, which was surprisingly light. The circus of this court was on display in front of her, it ground on endlessly and she was very much a part of it.

Did Voldemort's return mean it was clear to travel now? She would send a note to Terry Boot in the morning to ask.

Women swept over the dance floor with flaring skirts, the men were neatly dress in equally luxurious materials. Everywhere she looked, there was color and sparkle. An ice sculpture of a soaring bird sat on a table laden with food. Musicians played on a raised platform and drinks were passed around on trays.

Hermione took a moment to note who was speaking to whom, surveying the lay of the land. Primarily, she sought to establish where Malfoy was, the principle threat. Even his tactics of telling her exactly what he was going to do was intended to appease her. It did work. She was nowhere near so worried now as his strategy was dependent on him achieving the insurmountable task of developing emotions strong enough to stir pity in her. Well, she didn't pity so easily. Actually, that was probably not true as she'd felt real pity for Astoria when it had come down to it.

Malfoy looked away from the group he was speaking to and she immediately felt the force of his eyes. _I've been waiting for you_ , his eyes said. Unfortunately, there was something compelling in being so prominent in someone's mind. That in itself was some kind of bond, a common understanding. She could, after all, read his thoughts by a mere look.

Alright, maybe she was in a bit of trouble here. Not enough to give up her children's safety, but there was an attraction there. There were some very attractive qualities to him, but then there always were with predators. Their beauty and intensity mesmerized, didn't it?

Breaking away from the group, he walked toward her and she felt her nerves twinge. What was it he saw when he looked at her? It certainly wasn't love. She was a challenge and probably nothing more. Still, this game had its own level of excitement. Denying him had its rewards and she enjoyed seeing him take the reversal to seek another way. Persistence was perhaps his greatest quality. If he did actually develop some emotions, she'd be in trouble. He had her attention now, as it was.

"Care to dance?" he asked with a measured bow.

"Not sure my constitution would agree to being swung around at the moment."

"Everyone watching will be so disappointed."

Hermione looked around and just about everyone was slyly watching them. Annoyance flared in her. They had all made their bets, no doubt. "Perhaps I will," she conceded, just to inform their audience that she was not wilting under their attention.

"Excellent," he said and held his arm out.

Perhaps this had been a kneejerk reaction on her part. Now she actually had to dance with him and the materiality of it sunk home as his hand settled on her lower back, her hand placing in his. It was an innocent touch, but it never felt that way with him. She needed to get her mind away from the touch.

"How are your emotions coming along? The deal with love, in particular, is that you have to put the other person's interest ahead of your own. While I can see that you bank on that occurring for me, but by your strategy, that needs occurs for you. Might cause some dilemmas if you are then compelled to put other interests ahead of your own. It could even defeat the entire strategy."

"Are you assuming my opinion of myself will always be low enough to conceded that your best interests would be away from me?"

"We both know that they are. In marrying you, I would hand over every bit of power I have. You would have complete power over me and my children. Do you think I can ever trust you so much?"

His hand still warm on the small of her back as he swung her around the dance floor. Right now, he was leading, taking her wherever he wanted and she was compelled to follow. With Theo, she had trusted implicitly, but it hadn't been completely returned. "Theo always sought to protect me from the realities of his existence. I might even have lost him because of it."

"Would you grieve if you lost me?"

There he went, placing little images in her mind of them together, her the sorrowful bride. "It is not an experience I wish to repeat."

"But neither would you undo it if you had a choice," he said.

"No."

Malfoy raised his head slightly as if studying her. "Then if everything that preceded it was worth it, how can you say it is not worth doing it again? It means you feel the rewards are worth the risk, the loss itself, even."

Hermione looked away because she didn't want to answer the question.

"Perhaps it is the other way around," he continued. "It is the dying being loved that is worth all the costs. Is dying never having been loved not a bigger travesty?"

"But for you the travesty would be dying without having won."

"Some would say we are talking about the same thing."

"We are absolutely not talking about the same thing. The very first time I spoke to you, you said quite clearly that you were going to take my land. Your objectives haven't changed, only your strategy."

He smiled. "I did, didn't I?"

"The most dangerous part about you, Lord Malfoy, is that you have no ability to determine when the price is too high. You must win at all costs, and although your strategy is brilliant, I grant you, the price you have set of yourself might just be your undoing. You will have to trust me implicitly, and you have never in your life trusted anyone. History has proven that if you can't, bad things happen."


	49. Chapter 49

Chapter 49

A note arrived from Malfoy the next morning. Hermione could tell by the red wax seal and she wasn't sure she wanted to open it. The previous night, she had managed to talk herself into realizing what a bad idea Malfoy's pursuit of her was. Part of her was dying to know what he now said in this letter. Did he agree, acquiesce that this was all a very bad idea. Or was this some counterargument.

Cracking the seal open, she took the letter over to the window where the light was brightest. The parchment was stiff and smooth.

 _Come with me to Colmmire_ , it said. _I have a gift for you._

Why would I want this gift, she thought.

 _Because I have gone to considerable trouble_ , the next line said as if he had fully anticipated her reaction, _and it would be something you can remember me by if I die before ever achieving my goal of your love. And if me dying without love is not enough to sway you, there is also a toymaker that can make any return home more exciting_.

Hermione smiled. Melodrama really didn't suit him.

A knock on the door startled her. She wasn't expecting anyone at this hour and had the suspicion that Malfoy had followed this letter, maybe even delivered it in person.

She was right. He stood there, wearing his heavier jacket. "Come on. Daylight is burning."

"I have not said I'd come."

"It would be rude not to. I've planned the whole day. It is the least you can do after so clearly spelling out my doom last night if I pursue this foolhardy venture I am apparently incapable of pursuing in the first place. You're a rather confusing person, Lady Nott."

He walked into her apartments, again invading her space. He turned. "Or we could spend the day here—quietly and unobserved."

"Perhaps I do not wish to spend the day with you, Lord Malfoy."

"As you were also instrumental in making my time amongst the ladies of the court very uncomfortable, I am now beseeching your protection."

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"The more I am seen with you, the less chance they think they have, and are more likely to leave me alone. Obviously, they don't quite see the impediments to our marriage the way you do." He looked at her and smiled. "Physically removing me would cause such a scandal."

Aggravation stirred inside her. "You're completely bullying me."

"Which apparently has absolutely no effect on how you feel about me, so get your coat. I'll get it." He went to walk toward her bedroom.

"No," she said, grabbing his arm. "I'll get it."

For some reason, she really didn't want Malfoy in her bedroom. Even though she had visited him in his, she did not want to return the exploit. He really was coercing her. Calling the guards to have him removed would cause scandal and she would be dealing with that for who knew how long. Staying here with him had perils, because she knew his aim would be toward the bedroom. Going with him was the easiest and safest option.

Well played, Malfoy, she had to concede. Granted, a day out of the citadel had a certain appeal. Colmmire was a nearby township some hours ride away. It served the citadel with artisans. Before Voldemort's rise, it had been a muggle town, but it had been taken over by those of non-pristine blood serving Voldemort's regime.

Hermione grabbed her coat, feeling a little overwhelmed. Through ties of manners, scandal avoidance and risk minimization, Malfoy had her tied up in knots exactly like she had done to him not so long ago. But for her, the cost was a day's outing, as opposed to thwarting his entire plans.

One of his sleek carriages was waiting outside in the courtyard below her apartments. Its black body shone with wax and the four horses all matched. The springs gave as he helped her into it, the interior pale yellow silk. It was a beautiful carriage, but then Malfoy tended to have beautiful things.

The carriage set off as soon as he was seated and they were closed inside the space, protected from the elements outside. A grey and windy day, like most were.

"I have toys somewhere on my estate," he said after a while. "I don't know where, but I do remember them. My son should have them."

"It is just as likely to be a girl."

"Then my daughter should have them. I have been thinking a great deal about my family of late," he admitted, speaking quietly, his gaze still out the window. He remained silent after this. It brought to mind her own. Like his parents, hers had passed as part of the war that had brought Voldemort to power. So many people had died that when it ended and Voldemort was no longer challenged in his ambitious, everyone had simply wanted an end to the bloodshed.

In fact, they spoke little on the journey to Colmmire and Hermione was grateful. Sparring with him took so much energy and she wasn't sure she could manage a whole day of it.

"I tire in the afternoons," she stated, her voice sounding loud after the long period of silence. He turned his attention to her. "Just so you are aware."

He nodded.

The roads this close to the citadel were well maintained. There were also no highwaymen to hinder them and they arrived safely in the village. It had been a long time since she'd visited it. It looked the same, strewn houses with little shops underneath. The center of the town was muddy and an old well sat in the middle of the square.

Villagers watched them as they passed, walking toward this toyshop and whatever gift Malfoy had intended for her. A bright store front displayed toys carved in wood. There were dolls and animals, carts and buildings. Some of them were very clever with moving parts. This was good quality work. A small bell tinkled when they stepped inside and an older man appeared from the back.

Hermione perused the shelves and found a farmyard set that she decided to purchase. Malfoy indicated a castle carved in wood. "My driver will come pick it up."

"Thank you, my lord," the man said with a deep bow.

"And this set," she said. "I will pay now. How much?"

He said a sum and Hermione felt it was cheap for the quality of the work, so she paid a bit more. The man's hand shook a little as he accepted the galleons. Now that she was close, she could see that his clothes were so thin in areas, they were almost see-through. And he was gaunt.

They left the shop and walked a little further down the village. There were children looking at them as if they were the strangest sight they had ever seen. Some of them were neatly dressed, but in old and worn clothes, a few had little more than rags on and they were all thin. No one spoke to them, almost a little fearful, it seemed.

Now that she looked around her, everyone was thin. "These people are hungry," she said. In fact, there was no smell of food anywhere.

"You," Malfoy said to a fearful boy, perhaps a little too harshly because the boy shook like a leaf.

"Don't be afraid," Hermione said and the boy reticently approached, eyeing the beading on her reticule. Hermione picked out a coin and the boy stared at it.

"What are you eating?" Malfoy asked. "What did you eat today?"

"Soup," the boy said and blinked.

"And bread?" Malfoy queried.

"On Sundays."

Hermione gave the boy the coin and he ran off as quickly as his legs could carry him. "These people are starving," Hermione said.

"There are spies here," Malfoy said quietly. "Let's return to the carriage."

They walked back to the carriage, but only saw the driver in the square. Malfoy spoke to him before returning. "The horses are being watered. They are stabled over there. The driver has gone to collect our packages."

It started to rain and Malfoy urged her toward the stable building and the large wooden doors bleached with years of sun and weather. They opened them slightly and slipped inside. It smelled of hay and horses. The entire carriage was inside and the horses had been unstrapped and taken into stalls further down. There was no one else around.

"These people are eating bread once a week," Hermione said, still stunned with what she'd learnt.

"None of the farmland around here belongs to the town."

"Some of the merchants are wealthy."

"Some of them are not. Is Voldemort aware of the state of things here?" she asked.

He made a soft hushing noise and shook his head.

"They're starving," she said quietly, searching his eyes. Could it be that Voldemort didn't have the grain to feed them, or was he purposefully starving them? Was this how he quelled rebellion, starving people into weakness? No wonder there were highwaymen on the roads. "We have to do something."

Malfoy bit his lips together. "We cannot challenge Voldemort," he said barely louder than a whisper. "You know exactly how he will react."

"Is the whole kingdom like this?"

"This town is particularly disadvantaged because it has no farming community attached. They're all artists." He looked her in the eye for a moment. "And there is a lack of people farming the lands. We tend to take whatever labor we need and Voldemort recruits any able-bodied for his guardsmen."

"What of all the grain we produce?"

"Voldemort is distributing as he sees fit. We could perhaps circumvent it by delivering some grain directly from our respective stores."

"Yes," Hermione said with hope.

"It will bear risks. Voldemort will not be please if he finds out we are circumventing his procedures."

"His procedures are starving these people."

"Then we will be partners in crime," he said with a smile. There was mischief and levy in his face. "Do you trust me enough to risk punishment if I fail you?"

In fact, she was deeply impressed that he'd wanted to help these people, were actually taking some risk to do so. She would have expected him to say there was nothing they could do.

"Yes, I trust you," she said and he blinked as if he hadn't expected her to say it.

Then he snorted. "Like a dog, you are training me to perform good deeds, just for the adoration in your eyes."

"There is no adoration in my eyes."

"Then what it is I'm seeing?"

"Astonishment that underneath your harshness and calculation there is something who can feel empathy for strangers, at considerable risk."

"The things I will do to impress you."

"Is that the entirely of it? To impress me?"

"As opposed to your disturbingly low opinion of me, I do not like seeing the defenseless suffer."

Before she knew what she was doing, she leaned forward and kissed him. Maybe because for a moment, he was the man she wanted him to be, someone who cared for someone other than himself. Warm lips met hers, surprise giving to something deeper and headier. His arms wrapped around her, drawing her fully to him. The taste of him suffused her mind. It had been so long since they'd kissed like this and the urgent need she'd felt then returned like a levy being released.

A knock on the door broke them apart and the driver returned. Hermione lips felt bruised and sensitive. She'd just lost her mind and kissed him. He was utterly right in that there was something in her that direly wanted him to be a better man. If sheer benevolence melted her defenses against him, what would his love do?

"Time to go," he said, breathing deeply. There was a slight rosiness to his pale cheeks that wasn't usually there. "We ought not to spend more time here then we should."

He helped her into the carriage as the driver collected the horses. They left as soon as they were ready, traveling out of the village to the road returning to the citadel.

Hermione felt that the turmoil of the day had taken its toll and her energies were flagging, her eyes growing heavy.

"Sleep," he said gently and offer his shoulder. She shouldn't, perhaps, but she did feel she trusted him more now than she had before, and she direly needed to nap.

"What about my gift?" she said as she was drifting off. "You forgot my gift."

"No, I didn't. I will give it to you later."

As she dozed, she half felt his hand resting on her knee.


	50. Chapter 50

Chapter _50_

 _Malfoy was waiting for her outside her apartments when she emerged, ready to go to the festivities organized for the day. She wasn't entirely sure what was on the cards, dinner and a performance of some kind, the missive had insinuated._

 _"Lord Malfoy," Hermione said, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks._

 _"I thought we could walk together."_

 _The previous day had definitely been a victory for him_ —and the people of Colmmire. It was deeply unfair if he used such tactics to undermine her defenses, because it had worked. She had more or less fallen into his arms on the show of selfless generosity. And he'd accused her of, through her rewards, forming him into the man she wanted. Was the victory as sweet for him as he'd anticipated?

"I thought it was time to give you your gift."

"Oh?" she said and he opened his hand, filled with glittering sparkle. It dropped and hung off his finger. A necklace with large sapphires. That was much too extravagant.

"Not an heirloom. I had it commissioned. The family jewels will only be yours when you accepted them."

"With some small caveats."

"Yes," he smiled. "But I wanted to give you something. And yesterday, in light of the starvation around it, it seemed inappropriate."

"To remember you by if you died. Yet, if you commissioned it, you'd have to have done so before we even had that conversation."

He moved around her. "Perhaps I wanted to see what you would do." The stones and silver was warmed by his hand and he draped it around her neck. His fingers lightly brushed the back of her neck as he fixed the clasp. "I have never given you anything before."

"You gave me something quite substantial already," she said before she checked herself. His fingers stilled for a moment, resting lightly on her spine.

"A gift I am desperately trying to claim back." Soft lips brushed the skin at the nape of her neck, causing an unexpected shiver. "Some family in Colmmire will dine finely for a while on this commission," he said, changing the subject.

Hermione knew without a doubt he was seducing her and he was so very good at it. She was softening, but it was the deeper transformation in his nature that was devastating to her defenses. He had more or less admitted he was doing these things for the reward she gave him. "Well played," she said in a barely audible voice.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," she said and turned. The stones hung around her neck and it very much felt like his stones were hanging around her neck.

"If nothing else, you will remember me when you see this necklace. And you will think of me when you wear it." He smiled. "A small fortune in stones, but all in all, I'd say it's a bargain."

He looked her in the eye and she saw he was pleased with himself. "Careful what you wish for," she said.

"Is it worth doing if the stakes aren't high?"

"Not sure you completely understand what the stakes are."

"You do have me there, but a kiss recently did give me some clue."

He'd liked that kiss, but whether he felt anything more in it than victory, she didn't know.

Holding his arm out for her, he waited for her to take it. A moment of hesitation and she did. This all meant nothing, of course, even if she did bask somewhat in his attention. There was a long, long way to go before she was at risk of relinquishing anything, particularly anything that would come close to risking her family's wellbeing and prospects.

They walked in silence and as they approached, they heard a scream. Both froze. Someone had displeased Voldemort. This signified that he was in a bad mood and was taking it out of someone, or someone had been caught doing something.

Someone came running down the hall, a young man from one of the lesser houses ran straight past them without acknowledgement. There was shock on his face.

It had to be bad. "Perhaps you should stay here," Malfoy said. He released her hand and walked ahead of her, looking back briefly. He looked worried, but then Voldemort in a terrible anger was worrisome to all of them.

Hermione stood in the corridor, watching and listening, but there were no other screams. Ahead, she saw an elf run and disappear around the corner.

What was going on? People didn't normally react like this to Voldemort's outbursts, even if they were murderous. What is Malfoy wasn't coming back?

Unable to stand not knowing, she moved closer. She might not entirely go into the hall, but she needed to know what was going on.

When she walked around the corner, people were milling and exchanging looks, but no one spoke. On every page, she read grave concern. Something terrible had happened. Quickly, her thoughts turned to Malfoy. He hadn't come to seek her.

Approaching the door, she saw more people milling inside. It was very still. No one moved. One woman had her hands over her mouth, her eyes large. Then Hermione saw it, saw Voldemort sitting on his throne. Foam had formed around his mouth and his eyes were half closed. He was dead.

Malfoy stood not far away from him and their eyes met. Voldemort was dead.

The shock of it was dumbfounding. How could this have happened? It hadn't even occurred to her that it could. Voldemort was so strong, so protected—so paranoid, he let nothing near himself. But someone had killed him, by means of poison if she were to guess.

No one knew what to do. A woman appeared in the door, screamed and fainted.

Their leader was dead. The man who had forced them all to live here was dead. He held no power over them anymore. They were free. She was free.

"It must have been done by someone inside the citadel," Malfoy said quietly when he appeared by her side.

"He is so careful."

"It had to be someone he trusted, either as the perpetrator, or the unwitting deliverer of the poison."

Then the guards came streaming into the hall and roughly started pushing everyone out. The ornate doors closed firmly, shutting away the horrible sight of their dead liege. As the shock started to wear off, people were speaking more, the murmur of their voices echoing off the walls.

"What does this mean?" Hermione said, trying to think through the implications. The first instinctive reaction she'd had was that she could go see her son now. There was no one to stop her. But the more considered thought was that they didn't know what this meant. Voldemort was to paranoid to have ever stated or even insinuated an heir in case people had an alternative ruler to focus their hopes, dreams, and manipulations on.

"The guards seem to have taken control for the moment," Malfoy said quietly, his eyes scanning the room.

Terry Booth appeared, dressed in his clerical robes. "Everyone needs to return to their apartments and stay there," he said.

No one argued, even as Terry had no command to tell them what to do. It was just that his voice was the only one speaking up.

Malfoy grabbed Hermione by the elbow and urged her back the way they'd come. They walked with others until they melted away and it was just the two of them.

"For some reason, I have never even considered that Voldemort would be killed," she said quietly.

"This is unprecedented," Malfoy said. "There is no one in charge now."

"Voldemort's administrative arm is stepping in."

"For now," he said. "This is going to reverberate throughout the entire land. The earth has shifted from under our feet, and we need to figure out where we stand. Our alliances may be more important than ever. You need to check yours, particularly Wildersmith, if he is still standing by you."

"I don't think anyone is going to want to made any political moves right now," she stated. "Everyone is in shock."

"Which is really the best time to make a move, a substantial one."

"But Voldemort was at the center of that power structure. Does politics even exist anyone? Does power even exist anymore?"

"We don't know," he said. Hermione had never seen him look worried before, but everything had changed, and no one knew what a world without Voldemort looked like. "Talk to your alliances," he said after a while.

Unexpectedly, he stepped forward and kissed her on the forehead. It was such an intimate and personal thing and it took her entirely by surprise.

Hermione stood by the door and watched him as he continued down the corridor toward where his apartments were. Voldemort had also been her protection from him. What did that kiss mean? Did Malfoy feel protective against her, or was the big opportunity he felt it was time for include a move against her? He was right in that she needed to understand what her alliance stood for now.


	51. Chapter 51

Chapter _51_

Along with everyone else, Hermione turned up to the planned dinner the following night, because she didn't know what else to do. Like every other night, they all turned up in their finery and jewels. Some wore dark, somber colors and the mood was very subdued. There was none of the avid chatting, laughter or even snide remarks. It was as if everyone was shocked at this unexpected development, unsure how to act now.

The expression on people's faces showed that they were worried. Hermione doubted anyone was actually sad that Voldemort was dead. How could they be? He was a horrid man in every regard, and an utter bully as a leader. But there were those who thrived here, did so because they loved the competition, the danger or simply enjoyed the spectacle.

"My maid has disappeared," a woman said to her companions. "Simply got up and left without a word. Astounding. No one gave her permission to leave. I certainly didn't."

"They need to keep a check on such things," a man said with a shake of his head. "Or there will be chaos. As far as we've heard, the travel restrictions are in place."

"But there is no one to enforce them," another man said. "Who is to say to these people they can't leave?

"Of course there are. The whole system is still in place. Why wouldn't it be?"

Hermione moved on into the gathered crowd. Everyone seemed to have questions and no answers. Voldemort was always the first and last word on anything, so there officially wasn't anyone who could say how things were.

Malfoy stood farther into the room. She knew he'd been as surprised as her finding Voldemort dead on this throne. Well, she supposed he died where he wanted to be if not when. The realization that Voldemort's reign was over was just hitting her. This man who had terrified so many people was dead. In death, he looked pathetic, his skin sallow, his lips blue, with glassy, unseeing eyes. His strength and paranoia hadn't saved him in the end.

Malfoy, she knew, was considering his fallback position, trying to determine where he was within this change. Like others, he would seek to capitalize. Any change had opportunities and losses, and some of the people here would be seeking the opportunities, including Malfoy.

He'd told her to check her alliances, and he was probably doing the same. But what did alliances mean anymore? Were they more important than ever?

Her gaze traveling the room, she found Wildersmith, who was also deep in discussion. He didn't look quite as concerned as some, sipping a glass of wine. Actually, wasn't there call to crack open the champagne, Hermione wondered. She made her way toward Wildersmith.

"Well, well," he said. "Isn't this a development?"

"Not something I expected. For some reason, I think we saw him as indestructible."

"Because he saw himself as indestructible. I think he thought himself too strong for death, let alone paltry murder. Perhaps he grew careless."

"Do we know what killed him?" The foam around his mouth made her assume it was poison, but she didn't really know about these things with any degree of confidence.

"Clearly murder. Poison, it seems."

"He was so careful."

"Yes. Somehow the murderer managed to get passed all his defenses. It does suggest someone who knows him well. It is unlikely that there someone snuck into the castle to dispatch him. The citadel is well defended."

Hermione's mind cast back to Colmmire and the hungry people there. There had to be factions within the larger population what would happily murder Voldemort, but he knew that and was well defend from them, keeping skies everywhere to guard against any plots against him.

"But now we must turn out attention to the future, I think," Wildersmith said. Hermione got the feeling that Wildersmith wasn't all that interested in who had murdered Voldemort. As expected, he was already turning his mind to the opportunities that this development presented.

"What do you think the future entails?" she asked.

"I think we must elect a new king."

Hermione's eyebrows rose. It had not been what she'd expected him to say, but then supposed that it wasn't any more outlandish than any other suggestion. There wasn't anyone of the insane strength and ambition of Voldemort.

"There must be a leader," he continued. Wildersmith did have ambition, and may even see himself as taking on the role of the king. Perhaps Malfoy was right and alliances were more important than ever. Only the strongest would be considered for the job, and that would include Malfoy.

Hermione blinked at the idea. Malfoy as king of them all would be… She couldn't even determine. It would mean he'd make up his own rules and she would have no say in what happened to her or her lands.

"Someone must take the point of strength," he said. "And this is the point at which you would want that to be your friends," he said meaningfully.

"Would you perhaps consider it yourself?"

"That depends on which of the alternatives you find acceptable."

A frowned deepened across her eyebrows. It was probably true that the best result for her would be that her faction, hence Wildersmith, be placed on the throne.

"These factions will grow stronger and more divisive. It was all a game to Voldemort, a means to keep us quarrelling amongst ourselves, but now, these factions are all we have. I hope I can depend on your ongoing support."

Was that the best way to proceed? Was it the only way to proceed? Hermione didn't know. "I'm not sure it is time to plan a coup just yet, but you know full well that this alliance is in my best interest and will continued to be so."

He was watching her steadily as she spoke, as if looking for any indication she was lying. Was it a bad thing that he never truly trusted her? But then he never trusted anyone? Flagrant self-interest was what he understood, and what she said was true.

"There is, of course, Lord Malfoy," he said. "You could fare well aligning yourself with him."

This wasn't a discussion she wanted to have, but she understood why Wildersmith was pressing the point.

"It would mean strength, but I can't convince myself it is in my children's best interest."

"Irrespective of what you believe, there is a natural tie between you due to this child."

"I don't let my children be used for political maneuvers, Lord Wildersmith."

"Doesn't mean Malfoy will stop trying."

Would he seek to make himself king as Wildersmith expected? In fact, she wasn't sure a king was the only option. Never would she want to place herself in the position she'd been in under Voldemort. "Actually, Lord Wildersmith, there is a chance that these factions won't make a new king tolerable."

"There must be a new leader. It will be chaos without one."

Sadly, he might be right. "Between Malfoy and our faction, none are strong enough to subdue the other."

"Not if we unify all against him."

"Perhaps we are better off negotiating with Malfoy."

"Then we will always be under his boot. We must put new leadership in place soon, or the whole land will devolve into chaos."

The hungry people of the village returned. The food had to keep flowing, or they would starve. Starving people tended to revolt. If they all rushed the citadel, would they have the defenses to stave them off. How many would be killed and injured in such events.

Wildersmith was right in that leadership was needed. Infighting amongst themselves would lead to paralysis.

"At the last, we must pick someone to direct Voldemort's administrative functions, or we will have bigger problems to deal with than who leads. There must be something to lead in the first place. We must ensure nothing breaks down while we determine how leadership is structured. There are too many people who depend on the administrative functions.

"Prudence is perhaps wise."

"I suggest a council to govern within the interim," she said.

"Others would say we are better off to determine the leadership question now. Act decisively."

"How? Shall we all gather our armies and pitch them against each other?"

"If everyone supports our faction, Malfoy will have no choice but succeed."

In that moment, Hermione knew Wildersmith would be making a pitch for the throne no matter what she said. It was disappointing, but she wasn't all that surprised.

Looking over at Malfoy, she watched him in conversation. Wildersmith wasn't going to succeed in getting everyone to support him against Malfoy. In these, absolutes were highly unlikely, but Wildersmith's ambition refused to let him see that. The call of opportunity was too strong.


	52. Chapter 52

Chapter _52_

 _Hermione had difficulty sleeping. Thoughts kept turning over in her mind and refused to settle. She woke at various times during the night, her mind trying to inform her that something important was going on and she needed to pay attention. Well, she already knew that, but her subconscious refused to acknowledge that._

 _Grogginess slowed her mind as the sun finally rose. It had been a disturbing evening. Wildersmith's plans and expectations proposed a new set of uncomfortable ideas. Would he make a good king? By far, he'd be better than Voldemort, but he was also a man who cared mostly for himself. The idea of a king being corrupted by his own power was also scary_ —even worse if Malfoy ended up ruling.

But then Malfoy had been kind to the people of Colmmire, and that counted for something. Would Wildersmith care about the broader community, about people outside of this court? They had been at the mercy of one man, and now another would be put in his place. This was a choice that needed careful selection, because another ruler like Voldemort would be unacceptable. There had to be a mechanism for checking and limiting their power.

Rising from bed, she dressed. There would be some naps required during the day. Maybe she should spend the day in her apartments and recover from the shock of the last day or so. There was, after all, no Voldemort to insist they be at his beck and call, continually serve as witness and audience to his magnificence.

Noise was heard outside, the forceful drone of boots. There were also shouting. It had to be the guard. What were they doing near her apartments? Malfoy. The thought came screaming through her head. Had Wildersmith somehow used the guard to strike a blow at his rival? That would not be acceptable. In effect, that would be a coup. It would be just like Wildersmith to strike as quickly as possible.

With hurried steps, she ran to the door and pulled it open. There was still shouting and numerous men walking. But as she moved along, she observed that they were downstairs rather than in Malfoy's direction. Hermione stopped at the landing of the steps and listened.

They guard were down the stairs, arresting Lovegood. Confusion bit into her mind. Why would they arrest Lovegood, an elderly, bumbling man? Something made of glass crashed to the ground in the melee and shattered. Surely, they weren't being violent with the man? He was frail. This couldn't be right.

"What's going on?" she said with as much authority as she could muster when she walked down the stairs. A guard stood at the bottom and refused to let her pass.

"Business of the state, lady," the guard said. He was armed. They all were.

"What business has the state arresting an old man?"

He gave her a warning look and stood firm, again refusing to let her pass.

"Answer me!" she demanded in a harsh tone. Her forcefulness made him waver. She could see it in her eyes. Like everyone else in this castle, he feared authority, even the semblance of authority.

"Mr. Lovegood has been uncovered as the murderer of the liege," he said quietly.

Hermione's surprise was palpable. Mr. Lovegood poisoning Voldemort? It was too ludicrous to even consider. "He is an old, feeble man."

"The proof is irrefutable. He provided the substance that the liege consumed."

"Doesn't mean he is responsible. Someone could have used him… "

"He does not deny it."

At that moment, the guard came out with Mr. Lovegood, holding him by the arm. He looked both defiant and uncompromising as they forced him away. He threw a look at Hermione and in that instance, she saw not a feeble old man, but a hardness she hadn't seen before. There was sharp intelligence in his eyes. Now she knew that to some degree, the bumbling and absent-minded man had been a ruse.

His daughter had been killed in the war. Hermione had known her at one point, but that had been a long time ago. If this accusation was true, and the defiant look in Mr. Lovegood's eyes suggested it was, then he must have been biding his time. Voldemort had at times also humiliated and bullied the man, but this was probably revenge for his daughter.

His bumbling nature had made him overlooked by everyone, including her—and especially Voldemort, who'd thought Mr. Lovegood too broken and fearful to dare act against him. The assumption had been wrong and Voldemort had paid with his life—deservedly so. Perhaps that had been Lovegood's intention all along,

Most of the guards followed as the led the man away, including the man who'd stopped her from stepping off the stairs. There were still a few inside Mr. Lovegood's apartments, no doubt gathering evidence, or simply poisonous substances.

Hermione stood with her hand to her mouth, still too shocked to know how to react. Was there something she should do? Should she try to help him in some way? Essentially, he'd done them all a favor, but he'd also murdered in cold blood.

Finally, she turned back to make her way back to her apartments, but saw Malfoy standing at the top of the stairs. His expressing was guarded the way it was when anything happened, a neutrality until he knew how to act or respond to a development.

"It seems they have found Voldemort's murderer," she said.

"One none of us saw coming, including Voldemort."

Hermione reached the landing where he stood.

"One man's vengeance and all our lives change," Malfoy said.

"I think he spoke for a lot of people, all those injured by Voldemort and his quest for power."

"Perhaps."

"Wildersmith is seeking to make himself king," she said quietly.

"I am aware."

There was a silence for a moment as neither of them seemed to have anything to say.

"Problem is, as atrocious a liege as Voldemort was," Malfoy stated, "he had legitimacy as a ruler. He conquered this land, and hence, had a natural legitimacy. Wildersmith, or anyone else here, does not."

"Are you saying there must be a fight for the throne?"

"I am saying there must be something that legitimizes the ruler."

"Election would."

"Perhaps. But then that ruler would be beholden to the electors. That is not a position any ruler wants to be in. A ruler makes no one popular and the people who elect could then change their minds."

Chewing her lip, Hermione considered the thought. "Beats war." By the look on his face, Malfoy looked unconvinced. "We must find a way to avoid bloodshed. There has been too much of it already."

"It would be nice to think we could." His desire to avoid violence made her heart soar. When it came down to it, he seemed to want to do the right thing, and Hermione respected him for that.

=0=

Hermione walked out to the large courtyard to the east of the citadel. A notice had arrived that summoned the entire court here. A wooden stood at one end, but it didn't look recently constructed. The wood was weather-beaten and gray.

This wasn't a courtyard she had been in before, so she didn't know what this signified, but the wooden platform also had darker stained.

Nervousness crept up her body as she took her place in the quiet and somber crowd. A bad feeling twisted her gut, suggesting she was about to see something she didn't want to.

No one spoke and all gazes shifted to an opening door leading up from below. Guards appeared with Mr. Lovelace, whose hands were bound behind his back. Again, he looked defiance, even accepting of his fate. He wasn't going to survive this. This was to be his execution.

Normally, Voldemort would be overseeing the proceedings, but he wasn't here and there was no one to take his place, to punctuate the fanfare and taunt the victim. Mr. Lovegood wasn't technically a victim; he was an unrepentant culprit.

They forced him down on his knees. Still being an old man, it hurt him and he winced slightly, but he looked calm and undisturbed. For a moment, Hermione wondered if he understood what was occurring, but of course he did.

The guards milled around the platform, one with a straight, long sword. That was what they were going to use. Hermione's stomach rolled in revolt. Why had she answered this summons? Why hadn't she realized this was what they were being called for.

"Any last words?" one of the guards said with scorn.

Lovegood cleared his throat. "I truly hate you all, and I am only sorry I didn't get a chance to wipe you all from the face of this land. Burn in hell, the lot of you."

The words shocked Hermione, the pure vehemence and hatred. She'd dealt with him so many times and had never seen that deep and complete hatred. It was the first time that she'd realized that to some, the hatred of Voldemort extended to them as well—his court.

Why wouldn't it? They could all be seen as parasites, the pampered elite, who lived here in their sumptuous apartments, wearing silk and jewelry when everyone else starved.

As the sword was raised, Hermione closed her eyes. The sickening thud of the sword hitting home reverberated through her body and she had to stop herself from throwing up. It took more than one go to accomplish their brutal task.


	53. Chapter 53

Chapter _53_

 _How quickly everything had changed. Hermione used to feel that things were so uncertain under Voldemort's rule, but that seemed steadfast now. Everything was up in the air, and maybe Wildersmith did have a point: there was opportunity in change._

 _This was a chance to redo things, to not make the same mistakes again. They didn't have to live under a tyrant if they chose. Even if they chose a king well, they had done no work to ensure that they would not again be at the mercy of the whims of the ruler. They could do that, curtail the king's power, ensure that safety was assured for all_ —even insist on a fair judicial system.

The possibilities were floating around Hermione's mind and she was starting to feel excited. There was so much they could do now to make things better. Protection and safety for all. Primarily, she wanted a world where she could be with her children and they would be safe, one where she wouldn't be subjugated to the edicts of a ruler.

In fact, she didn't want a king in the manner that had been at all. Surely, there were other forms of governance they could consider. Maybe even one where no single person had the power to subjugate another. It wasn't just her, but a number of people, who were at risk no matter who crawled up on the throne. If it were Malfoy, she would be subject to his will. That was not an outcome she was prepared to tolerate.

Some would think that would mean she would lend her support to Wildersmith and his campaign for the throne, but she now had loftier ambitions.

These new ideas had hold of her and she couldn't escape them even if she wanted to. Her mind was buzzing with new possibilities. This was the chance to make the world a better place.

Just how to achieve it was what really needed some thought—plus the fact that she needed to be clear about what she wanted to achieve. At the core, she didn't want power to rest with one person. They needed a safety net to protect them from an insane ruler. And the court itself was an example. Alliances made up the structure and they shifted to serve the people of the court. Voldemort spurred the rifts and the confrontations, but did they really need someone to sit on top of them. Some would still be more powerful than others—including herself.

Was there a more fair way? A full democracy would be the most fair, but she knew that would be a proposal to far for anyone here at court, fearing the masses would immediately strip them of their lands. They might actually be right to be concerned. The people here at court represented the ruling elite who had invaded and reformed this land to suit themselves. Through her marriage to Theo, she had been shifted from one of their numbers to one of the elite.

A full democracy would never be acceptable to the people who held the power now. It would be too radical an idea to seriously consider. But she could make steps to create a bit more fairness. Primarily, the violence had to stop. Voldemort had ruled by force and intimidation, and countless people had suffered for it.

There had to be a way to make things better, to feed the people who were hungry. There had been a time when the land had been prosperous and hunger hadn't existed. With Voldemort's arrival, all that had changed. The sad truth was that Voldemort had wanted to inequality, had wanted people to be hungry and subjugated.

A knock reverberated across the space. She'd guessed right when she'd wondered if it was Malfoy. He stood in the corridor outside, wearing his typical black. He always looked so unruffled, even when the sands shifted dramatically beneath their feet.

"How are you?" he asked as she let him in.

"Well. Like everyone else, I suspect, I have been thrown by these developments."

"Yes. Everyone I have spoken to are shocked. Have you spoked to Wildersmith?"

Hermione looked him in the eye, trying to read what it was he really wanted to know. Was he here pumping her for information? Perhaps his query was innocent. The last thing they'd spoke about was assuring their alliances, but she also knew that Malfoy played longer games than that.

"I have."

"He is making an attempt for the throne," Malfoy said. "Will you support him?"

So far, Malfoy had not told her specifically that he was going for the throne as well. Only Wildersmith had asserted it as a given. Would Malfoy assume that her loyalty to Wildersmith was a given? Her defection could determine the success of either party.

"I have determined that I am not supporting the crowning of another king," she said. Malfoy's eyebrows rose. "I think this is an opportunity to create a more fair means of governance."

"You are an idealist thinking final power isn't necessary."

"I don't agree."

"What you are suggesting, although noble in sentiment, won't work. It would descend into chaos and no one would agree with each other. The court will descent do nonstop intrigue."

"Maybe you are selling us short. I think we can step up because the times requires it."

"So, you are not supporting Wildersmith's campaign?"

"I'm not supporting you either."

"I never said I was pursuing it."

"I can't imagine you wouldn't. Pursuing power has been your mainstay. Wildersmith winning would weaken your position, and I can't see you being able to bear that."

Draco considered her for a moment. She couldn't readily tell if he was angry or not; he was so supremely good at hiding his emotions when he wanted to. "And how would this alternative work, if you ever managed to achieve it?" Was that derision in his voice? Probably. She was, after all, standing in the way of what he wanted to achieve.

"I don't know yet," she said honestly.

"That will make it even harder to achieve."

"I don't know," she said. "I think there are quite a few here at court who are willing to consider alternatives, particularly if it meant not being under the thumb of either you or Wildersmith."

He smiled now. "Are you speaking of your own fears?"

"I am speaking of a member of this court who's been made to dance at Voldemort's tune any time he felt like it. I think there are many who would consider a more fair form of ruling."

"It will be nothing but infighting and backstabbing."

"So, not much different from what we have now, then."

Hermione turned her attention to the distant landscape outside her window. "We actually have bigger problems to deal with," she said.

"Like what?"

"You remember the people in Colmmire. I am sure that privation is repeated in very village across the land. They would have all heard of Voldemort's demise by now. There is a good chance that they will seek to improve their lives, and if we drag our feet, it may just be that they won't wait for us."

"An argument that supports the appointment of a ruler quickly, and not a messy and cumbersome system you are proposing."

"What I am saying is that we need to find an effective intermediary way to work to support and improve the systems in place to make sure things don't get worse for the people who are already stretched to the point of rebellion."

"Bit word."

"Would you use force to subdue them."

He gave her a warning look. "We cannot afford to give ourselves over to anarchy."

"Then, let's work together to make things better, at least to shore things up in the short term until we have a chance to sort more permanent governance. There is no guarantee that the contest between you and Wildersmith won't be long and drawn out."

"You support would considerably shorten it."

"Support that I am not lending to either of you."

"It is a risk breaking up your alliance."

"A risk for a better future for everyone—including you."

A slow grim spread across his face. "Are you making unilateral decisions for by best interest now?"

"I am thinking about everyone. We cannot just think about ourselves. It would be unconscionable. I might be wrong, but I cannot bring myself to not try for a better world. Whatever you do, please don't fight against me. If you truly are fit to be a ruler of this land, then you owe it to the people of this land to try for something better."

"Who is the one manipulating now? Are you attempting to emotionally blackmail me? Hard to do if I have no emotions to toy with. Obviously, as you have so often accused, I am always seeking the opportunity for myself in such trade-offs. So, what's in it for me?"

It was Hermione's turn to give him a chiding look. By his tone, she knew he was toying with her. If he hadn't been so willing to help the people of Colmmire not so long ago, she might think him incapable of caring for people, but she had seen him react. "You will have my gratitude."

"An expensive price for your regard, Lady Nott."


	54. Chapter 54

Chapter _54_

 _The first thing to do was to tackle Wildersmith. She had informed Malfoy of her plans and that she wasn't supporting anyone in their claim for the throne. Now she needed to tell Wildersmith the same thing, and she really had no idea how he would take it._

 _Ahead of arriving at his apartments, where she hadn't actually been before, she'd sent a note requesting a meeting. His doors were large and heavy, as if signifying the weightiness of the family behind it. A pull indicated her presence and a servant answered the door._

 _She was shown to a library, where Wildersmith sat behind a desk, bend over some documents._

 _"Lovely library," she stated and looked around. Many of the books here were old. She wondered where they'd all come from._

 _"I do believe it is the most impressive in the citadel behind Voldemort's. I suppose that will belong to the new king after the coronation."_

 _"Well, that is what I'm here to talk about."_

 _Wildersmith's eyes narrowed._

 _"Two issues. Firstly, I believe we need to form a council to deal with the immediate needs of the land. We must not let Voldemort's death an event that causes suffering. I dare say there is also much to improve that this council could also look like."_

 _"A council?" he said. Like Malfoy, he probably assumed that the new king would be decided soon and no such thing would be necessary. He was silent for a moment, studying her intently. "And the second thing?"_

 _"Well, my wish that this council would turn into more of a parliament."_

 _"You wish to dilute the king's power?" This surprised him._

 _"If need be. I don't think anyone wants to be in a position of absolute power like we have been. If fact, I question the need for a king at all."_

 _"No king?" he sounded incredulous now. "Of course there needs to be a king. It is ludicrous to propose otherwise. I could perhaps understand that some would limit the power of a king, but to not have one at all is madness."_

 _"The job of governance can as easily be done by committee."_

 _"Committees never agree on anything."_

 _"Maybe the differing opinions have value."_

 _"Someone needs to make final determinations."_

 _Hermione was getting tired of him pressing the same point relentlessly. "I, for one, wish to explore new ways of leadership for this land."_

 _Still staring at her, he chewed his lip for a moment, seemingly while trying to work out what to say._

 _"Which means," she continued, "that I will not be endorsing any candidates at this time."_

 _"You would be breaking our alliance. That will certainly make you… weak. Quite a stance to take for some pipedream. Some would say absolutely idiotic."_

 _Before coming here, she'd wondered if he would go so far as to bully her, but apparently, he would. "And I would like your support."_

 _His eyebrows rose up onto his forehead. An amazed chuckle escaped him._

 _"Obviously," she said. "Without my support, you have no chance of the throne. Malfoy would be stronger than you."_

 _"So, you are throwing yourself in with him. I should have known this was all some way of justifying that."_

 _"No, I have told him the very same thing, but the point I_ _am_ _trying to make is that alliances are likely to prove pivotal to any kind of group leadership. This alliance can break apart and I can easily join another. It is you that have the most to lose here." She forced any kind of nervousness out of her voice. Going in here, she had intended this to go with more charm and less forcefulness, but this had been necessary. She took a breath. "But this alliance has served us both well in the past and it would be a shame to in it."_

 _"You are strongarming me, Lady Nott, and I don't appreciate it."_

 _"I am only trying to create a much better situation than the one we came from."_

 _"Are you sure you're not simply trying to undermine us?"_

 _"Us? Who is us, precisely?"_

 _He didn't answer._

 _"I think there are sufficient people here at court who would gladly consider some alternative form of leadership." Hermione smiled tightly. "None of us would honestly claim that having a king added anything good to anyone's lives."_

 _Wildersmith leaned back in his chair. "It seems your ambition has turned on me this time. I wish I could think that it was Malfoy that influenced you to act like this, but I know better. You are no meek creature, Lady Nott. You take this court and turn it upside down at your will and in the end, you seem to force us all to play to your tune. I suppose we should be happy you haven't decided to set your sights on the throne."_

 _Hermione threw him a look as if she were disappointed with him. If fact, the thought hadn't even occurred to her. She couldn't think of anything worse, actually. All she wanted, was to be with her children. Well, that wasn't entirely true. If that was her only ambition, she would throw her lot in behind Wildersmith and simply have him promise to leave her undisturbed for as long as she pleased. It just wasn't in her to throw the rest of the world to the wolves as long as she had what she wanted. That was why she was doing this._

 _"If I am wrong, you and Malfoy will have to slog it out. Irrespective, it will be a long-drawn-out affair, so in the meantime, I would appreciate your support for a council to ensure the country doesn't fall apart because we are all squabbling about leadership."_

 _All she got from Wildersmith was a grunt and she knew better than to press her luck._

 _"Don't act as if I've killed your children. We will do great things, you will see," she said like a smile._

 _"I am beginning to fear when you set your mind to something, Lady Nott."_

 _Rising to leave, she nodded to him, knowing they were leaving this meeting with a definitive understanding of the state of their alliance. That would remain to be seen. He might work against her, but then he didn't entirely know if she was working against him in return. This was something she would have to keep an eye on. Maybe she would have to engage young Tilley to report back to her what people were saying about her and their ambitions._

 _Next, perhaps she would tackle the ladies. They were often underestimated at court, but having them on side would certainly help set the tone of this new court if nothing else._

 _Before that, she walked over to the administrative section of the citadel, where there was still an undercurrent of panic. Terry Boot was in his office, looking slightly flustered._

 _"There is no one to answer your requests, Lady Nott," he said with exasperation. "If you want to leave, just leave. There is no one stopping you, or anyone else, apparently."_

 _"Are people leaving the citadel?"_

 _"What can I do for you?"_

 _"I am here to inform you that we are putting together a council to make the necessary decisions to ensure this nation doesn't fall apart."_

 _For the second time in a short space of time, her suggestion brought astonished surprise. "And why would it be your job to set up a council. You're just some leftover wife." He said the words with distaste. He'd always had something against her._

 _She smiled patiently at this man who she'd never liked. The feeling had clearly been mutual. "Because we are the landowners, the economic force of this land." She stared at him pointedly. "Or would you prefer a military coup?"_

 _He went to snort, but it melted from her face when he realized she might be right. Leadership would either be claimed by the landowners, the courtiers, or by the guard._

 _"I don't wish to live in a military state, and neither do most of the court. In the meantime, there are a whole swath of hungry and angry people who are right now wondering if they should just take what they want."_

 _"The guard are keeping the people in check," he said, then biting his lips as if he'd said to much._

 _"Report to us on the state of things in two days," she commanded and slowly turned, her skirt sweeping the door of his office. "Inform the guard to do the same."_

 _Hermione had a great deal of work to do to get this council together in two days' time. There was no insurance either Terry, or the leadership of the guard, would be there. If neither turned up, it meant no one was in control. Terry had more or less let slip by the balking look on his face that he felt very uncertain about there being any reins on the guard._

 _Terry wasn't the problem. This all hinged on whether the guard would cooperate, would agree to take new reins. If not, then this would suddenly turn into a military coup. Maybe they were also extremely unhappy with the idea of having another liege. Like most, they probably suffered under Voldemort's reign._


	55. Chapter 55

Chapter _55_

 _Dealing with the ladies proved surprisingly easy. Her invitation to tea was accepted by almost everyone. There were no longer invitations arriving through the administration within the citadel, conveying Voldemort's orders. All their required activities had stopped and it seemed most didn't know what to do with themselves. Hence, her invitation was probably received with relief by some. They had somewhere to go, somewhere to find out what was going on. Interesting that it should be at her apartments, which was now filled with beautiful gowns and elaborate hair._

 _The ladies of court had natural communications channels much stronger than the mens', and Hermione was going to utilize it. Granted, some of these ladies were intellectual lightweights, but not all of them. For as shallow and flighty as Pansy could be, she wasn't a stupid woman, and she had influence over many of the ladies in her inner circle._

 _The thought of this council being populated by select people, or by a selected the group, had occupied her mind most of the evening. Not all of their opinions were needed, so a select group would be more efficient, and probably effective. But at the same time, it was not the time to alienate people and hence cause unnecessary dramatics, so perhaps the council, for now, had to consist of people who wanted to be on it._

 _Hermione had served tea and finger cakes before announcing her intentions, and inviting them and their husbands to join the council if they felt the administration of the nation was of interest to them. She duly warned them that it would perhaps be try stuff, but stressed the importance of why it was necessary._

 _Now that she had an actual meeting to go to, the presentation by Nott and the guard to communicate the state of affairs, it was easier to get people to listen._

 _Her proposal was met with murmur amongst the ladies._

 _Hermione smiled, knowing without a doubt that few would want to miss out on being a part of this council, at least until they knew what was going on. Now was not the time to not be a part of the 'in crowd.'_

 _"Well, quite a bold step," Pansy said._

 _"A necessary step."_

 _"Malfoy must be livid. I am sure he's set his sights on the throne." Pansy almost purred as she spoke._

 _"I think there are many who wish to be without a king since we just got rid of the last one. I would say the majority of the court suffered in one form or another during his reign. Not to mention the broader population."_

 _"You are an idealist, I think. When it comes down to it, people complain, but as they say, a leopard doesn't change its spots."_

"Irrespective of how things turn out," Hermione said, "there are issues we need to turn out attention to immediately."

"Such as?" Pansy said. It was clear she had no idea what Hermione was referring to.

"The structures that ensure goods and food flow around the land as they should."

A look of confused surprise registered on Pansy's face.

"Can't have people starve."

"They've been trying to kill Voldemort for years. They've just gotten their wish. I am sure they're more than prepared to handle the consequences."

"Careful what you wish for and all that?" Hermione asked, looking at her. "Hungry people tend to be desperate."

Pansy gave a conceding shrug. "I suppose. If you feel they need mollycoddling, then I suppose you should see to them."

"I take it you won't be attending the council meeting, then."

Narrowed eyes cut into Hermione for putting Pansy on the spot and suggesting she not attention the political thing going on. Pansy felt no care for the things Hermione wanted this council to look at, but she refused to be left out. Then again, life at court historically made victims of the people not there to defend themselves. Perhaps that hadn't changed, but Hermione didn't want this council to be the place where their nasty and destructive brand of politics was played out.

=0=

Pacing back and forth in front of the midsized hall that Hermione had picked out for the council meeting. Her decision had been sent to Terry Boot, and now it would remain to be seen if anyone turned up. It could be that not a single person came, that they had all decided that she was not the person to lead and suggest such things.

That would certainly harm her standing if that was the case. It could also be that this council was completely ineffective, bogged down with infighting, political manoeuvrings and intrigue. If truth be told, she wasn't sure she would include any of these people to represent highly competent leadership.

But if they were to live without a king, then they had to find some way of governing as a group. This council would show if that was possible. Otherwise, they would be back to Wildersmith and Malfoy slogging it out until a victor emerged. A new king would then be crowned and they would all be at his mercy. Whether Malfoy or Wildersmith would be better was something she wasn't sure of. They were both ruthlessly ambitious, both concerned about their own wellbeing before the people, particularly as they both held firm to their beliefs in pureblood superiority. Like Pansy, would they care if the people of this land starved? Would they, like Voldemort had, feed people just enough to keep them weak and too scared to cause trouble.

Young Tilley arrived and stood awkwardly in the hall. Hermione smiled at him. Eventually other people followed. As of yet, neither Malfoy, nor Wildersmith was there. The hall was soon abuzz with talk, people milling around in groups.

Lord Ackerley approached her. "Lady Nott. I am most curious to see what this council will entail."

"I'm not sure anyone really knows. I have asked the administration give us an overview of the state of affairs."

"Right, right," Ackerley said. "Should be interesting."

She didn't feel it was the time or the place to confide in Ackerley, but what would be interesting was if they didn't show up. Then what would they do. It effectively meant the administration and the military were snubbing the land owners. "I hope so," Hermione said.

With a sense of relief, she noticed that Terry Boot had appeared, a rolled-up scroll under his arms. He might not be happy about being here, but he was here, ready to present to them. He gave her a nod, but she could tell that he had no love for her. His dislike was not something she would ever worry about. Turns out she was a creature of this court now, and someone's dislike rolled off her like water off a duck's back.

Wildersmith appeared as well—too curious and pragmatic to keep away. It was a victory, even if Malfoy stayed away.

It was time to start and she nodded to the elves to open the doors to the hall, where rows of seats have been prepared. A table stood at the very front.

Hermione took her seat on the front row and the gathered crowed milled to their seats in a subdued fashion. No one knew how this would unfold, including her. Terry would in effect lead the way.

He moved up the front, placing down his materials on the table, his face and mouth drawn. It seemed, he saw no reason to hide how little he liked this. If he continued to act in a contrary fashion, perhaps this council would have to see about replacing him. Of course, no one knew who had the power to banish someone from the citadel, but they were basically here to claim that power.

Harsh steps were heard from the hall outside and before long, a uniformed man appeared, his face even more drawn than Mr. Boots. Again, relief washed through Hermione, because this man's appearance signified that the guard had arrived at the meeting. She didn't know him, or any of the other men who oversaw the security of the citadel and the realm at large. But he was here, and that was a coup. The guard were putting themselves under this council's power, at least tentatively.

The man marched to the outer seat in the front row and sat down, crossing his legs. Shiny black boots covered her lower legs. He stared ahead and didn't acknowledge anymore. Still, the fact that he was here was a victory.

Looking around at the gathered party to see who had not attended, she saw Malfoy in the back, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He had come, also tentatively. Not entirely accepting enough to sit down, but he was here. Everyone was here. She had proposed this and everyone was complying with it. Undoubtedly, they would not be getting on and agreeing to most things, but they were all in one room, and that counted for something. They had a medium of communication between the arms of government, and the people who were putting themselves forward to govern.


	56. Chapter 56

Chapter _56_

 _Terry cleared his throat and the room quietened, listening intently. He looked lost for words for a moment. "We are all, of course, lost at the despicable murder of our esteemed liege." Terry throw a harsh look at the military man, as if blaming him letting the deed happen. "It was the most vile deception and betrayal. Unfortunately, Voldemort never chose a successor, which places us in a predicament. We are here today to discuss the appointment of a new ruler. We propose that the administration_ — _"_

 _Cheeky little sod, Hermione thought and rose. Everyone's attention turned to her. "Actually, we requested a conveyance of the state of affairs."_

 _"It is the administration's role to see to the state of the lands."_

 _"But you have no oversight, Mr. Boot. We are here to provide you oversight."_

 _Terry was turning absolutely red. "That is not your place."_

 _Hermione blinked. "Then whose place is it? Yours? We are the land owners."_

 _His mouth was moving as if he wanted to say something but wouldn't let himself._

 _"It is not your place to tell us what to do," Malfoy said from the back._

 _"When a new liege is in place_ — _" Terry stammered._

 _"Well, he is undoubted in this room. Until them, we have asked you to inform us about what you know of the state."_

 _Hermione was grateful for Malfoy's support for this, although she didn't know if he was supporting her or simply annoyed that Terry was dismissing their right to question him. The problem was that the courtiers didn't officially have a role with the state, and there was nothing to specify that they did if the liege died either. She also noted that Malfoy had said 'he' when referring to the new liege. That was telling, but nothing she didn't already know._

 _"If you wish to know every gritty detail…"_

 _"We do not wish to know every gritty detail, Mr. Boot," Hermione said. "We wish to know the pertinent things, a summary, any threats or issued that need to be immediately dealt with."_

 _"We deal with an innumerable number of things," Terry said haughtily_

 _"If you feel incapable of summarizing the important fact, Mr. Boot. Perhaps you need to be replaced."_

 _It didn't escape her that the military man was paying close attention. Terry wasn't really the issue here. As opposed to his self-opinion, he was nothing but a snivelling clerk, but the military had the power to go their own route. That man could be here to take their measure, to blow smokes up their backsides to keep them from being trouble, the strategy that Terry had obviously chosen. This would not be something she would be happy with, and neither should anyone else in this room._

 _"So, what do you wish to know?" Terry said in a surly voice._

 _"Let's start with food production and distribution. What is the state of it?"_

 _Terry looked as if he was shaking with anger, biting his lips together. "There has been some loss of production?"_

 _"What loss?" Lord Humberston asked._

 _"There has been movement of people," the military man said when Terry didn't see fit to respond._

 _"Movement?" someone said._

 _"There are people walking off the crown land," Terry admitted, a little deflated._

 _"My maid walked off the other day. Not a word," a woman said with piercing offense._

 _"Shut up, woman," someone next to her said. Hermione assumed it was her husband._

 _"How many?" Hermione asked._

 _"We don't know exactly, but food production is low. We are going to need the esteemed people in this room to assist a little."_

 _Now they were esteemed, Hermione thought._

 _"Assist?" someone said. A murmur of discontent broke out across the room._

 _"Wheat, particularly. We need to augment the state provision of wheat."_

 _"The state can buy at market prices," someone said._

 _The military man rose and the whole room quietened. "There is growing discontent. Violence is breaking out in certain quarters. If the wheat doesn't flow, there will be uprisings_ —more than we can handle."

A silence settled on the room. "And who are you? And when were we going to be informed of this?"

"I am Captain Burgess," he said. He ignored the second part of the question.

Hermione rose. "Perhaps we all need to make a contribution of wheat based on the size of our holdings."

"What do you mean holdings?"

"The amount of land you have."

"But I don't grow wheat. Most of my crop is barley."

"Then trade your barley," Hermione said through gritted teeth. "I am sure we can create a marketplace amongst ourselves."

"Why should I pay more?" one of the courtiers with a midsized holding.

"Why shouldn't you?" Hermione challenged.

"Sort the people walking off the land and we won't have to hand over our crops," Lord Yaxley said dismissively. "How have we let the people walk off the land?"

"We don't have the men to deploy to guard field hands."

"Then they need to fear doing so. Hunt them down and make them regret it."

"That hardly solves a shortage of workers in the agricultural sector, does it?" Hermione said. "And if we increase persecution, discontent will grow."

More discontent was expressed. This wasn't the orderly discussion Hermione had hoped to have. Then again, she didn't think the people gathered here had had a remote inkling how bad things were away from the cloistered luxuries of the citadel.

"Do you not understand that we are in a precarious situation?" Hermione said in a harsh, loud voice.

"We need a new liege," a man called

"In the meantime, we must solve these problems, or a new liege will be pointless." Hermione turned her attention to Terry. "Please let us know how much is needed to fill the shortfall."

Hermione sat down. She hadn't known the situation was quite as bad as what they were hearing. Hunger had existed even before Voldemort had died, and here they were squabbling over achieving those levels. She sighed.


	57. Chapter 57

A/N - Check were you are with this story, because the site hasn't been sending out notifications last week.

Chapter _57_

The contribution of wheat was made grudgingly by some, but most understood that it had to be done. The issue of the non-productive crown lands. It only went to prove that there was a whole lot of people who were in places and positions they hadn't wanted to be in. That was actually a much harder problem to solve.

Captain Burgess wanted more men to enforce security, which would mean taking a large bite into the crown coffers, or raising taxes. These were the important questions this council had to answer, as neither the administration nor the military could make these decisions, and would let things slip because of it until situations became untenable.

Raising taxes would be painful for the population at large, and maybe be a risky move at a time like this. Alternatively, it was uncertain what the state of the coffers was. They hadn't had time to get into that level of detail at the council meeting.

A deep unease had crept into her, that things were worse than she had realized. The council meeting had proved that things were worse, but still, she feared that the true situation was more dire than they had been led to believe. It wasn't perhaps that Terry and Captain Burgess had lied, but they could be interpreting things as not being as bad as they really are.

There was no way of knowing. Hermione felt like they didn't have all the information. In fact, they were putting their faith in Terry Boot, which she knew tried to cover things up, and Captain Burgess, who they actually know nothing about. What was true was that Terry didn't trust him, but that could mean anything.

The only way to know was to go have a look herself. The states were so high, this wasn't something she could just let go of and hope for the best. How were they supposed to make good decisions about what needed to be done, and how to govern, if they didn't have all the facts?

Walking to the edge of the room, she pulled the rope that called for an elf to attend her. It took a few minutes, but an elf appeared.

"I would like my carriage prepared," she said and the elf nodded to go carry out her request.

Hermione sighed. If only she would be getting the carriage in order to go back home. It wasn't time yet. Maybe once they had things settled. The council was working and doing its job, and not exclusively driven on her ill power, then she could take a step back. How many times had she told herself that it just wasn't time yet? It seemed like countless. It was never the right time to go home. That time always seemed to be just over the horizon, coming into sight before slipping away.

At times, she couldn't help wondering if she was better off settling on one of them for king and cutting her losses. But it would be the whole nation suffering if they did this wrong.

Grabbing her fur lined coat, she made her way out of her apartments and started the journey down to the courtyard below. The climb up again would be more trying, but she had to do this—go to Colmmire and see for herself.

The carriage was waiting, the wind whipping at her clothes as she stepped outside. It had actually been a few days since she'd been outside. The inside of the carriage was cold and slightly damp.

The rhythmic beats of horse hooves were soothing on her mind that been desperately busy of late. For a moment, she could just sit and relax, try to step away from the worry that plagued her. Her mind traveled to Malfoy, wondering what he was doing. She hadn't spoken to him for a few days. No doubt, both he and Wildersmith were both working on their campaigns. Neither of them were taking her plans particularly serious, probably expecting them to fail—were even humoring her.

At times, she felt too tired to care. She wanted her son, her family. At some point, one she couldn't quite define, Theo had started fading from her. It hurt to consider it, but it was true. The fact that there had been so much he'd hidden from her had caused a schism, and she'd had no way of mending it. Month after month, he seemed to be further and further away from her.

Sighing deeply, she cleared the morose thoughts from her head. It was time to be shrewd and analytical. Her querying mind felt like a cool, calming blanket. She had a job to do.

Rain had started pelting on the windows of the carriage, but she could see people working in the fields. There was the proof. There were people still working. Things couldn't be that bad. The infrastructure of society wasn't breaking down around them. The worst of her fears were not coming true.

The village came into view and it looked similar to how it had been the last time she'd seen it. Carts were going about their business, the shops were open and there weren't people milling around.

Mud squelched under her foot as she stepped down from the carriage. She unfurled her umbrella and walked down one of the streets. Now that she was here, she didn't know exactly what she was looking for. The town would have some kind of leader, someone who dealt with the administration.

A tavern was in sight, the light from the windows glowing warm and welcoming. Looking through the window, she saw people milling inside. There wasn't any shortage of ale, it seemed. Stepping inside the door, wet warmth greeted her. A silence descended across the whole tavern as everyone turned to her.

"Hello," she said as was greeted by continued silence.

"Are you lost, my lady?" the barkeep finally asked.

She took some steps toward the bar, all eyes following her as if a spectre had appeared in front of them. "I was hoping to have words with the town leader."

The barkeep with a rough face and heavy eyebrows looked surprised. "And what do you wish with this town?" She noted that he didn't answer the question. Was that because he was the leader? The tavern was often the center of a town. His face was drawn with a slight frown.

"I am just doing a survey to see if there are any things that are failing," she said, feeling the heavy disapproval of the people in the tavern. Then again, she couldn't blame them for being suspicious.

"Failing? Everything has been failing here for years."

"If there is anything in particular, we could try to address it," she said with a smile. "If anything is slipping, it can be looked at."

"What we need is not to be bothered with your lot," a man sitting by the bar said, his hand on a heavy tankard.

"Look, I am only here to see if there is anything crucial that is slipping in this time of confusion."

"Since the bastard's death?"

"Hey, hey," people called merrily around the tavern.

"Aren't you that mudblood lady?" another man said. "The one that married into the aristocracy."

She hadn't known that people had been aware of her and the circumstances of her birth.

"What you be wanting with us, lady?"

Their belligerence was getting to her now and she was actually getting annoyed. "I am actually trying to stop any needless suffering if it's in my power. But if you're all fine, then I will go."

"Go back to your cossetted tower," a woman said. Her dress was both gaudy and tatty, low cut enough to signify that she performed favors in return for compensation.

Hermione turned to leave. This really hadn't gone to plan. A younger man stepped in her way. Hermione swallowed hard, but refused to show how aware she was that she was alone and surrounded by hostile people. He had green eyes that sparkled with intelligence and mischief. "The only thing we needed was that bastard's death. Now if only the fucking citadel and everyone in it could burn to the ground, all would be well. If you could see to that, lady, we would all be most grateful."

"I deal with realities, not pipedreams," she said sharply. She went to push past. He stood his ground, but didn't touch her. Still, she forced him to step out of her way. She walked straight for the door. Whatever her intentions were, this had all been a mistake. They weren't interested in listening, giving to their anger instead of trying to make thing better.

"Don't you feel like a traitor?" the man asked, "Dressed up in their silks and finery, coming here to bestow your charity."

"This isn't about charity. It's about taking the opportunity to make thing better."

"Only wiping them away would make things better."

"Wallowing in self-pity doesn't achieve anything," she said tersely. "If you find you have an actual problem to solve, you know where I can be found."

She wasn't sure why she had offered that. Perhaps just to make a point that she was a better person. Being a creature of court, some harsh words and unfriendly sentiments didn't devastate her. In fact, they had no sway on her whatsoever. She did what needed to be done and if people didn't have a habit of cutting off their noses to spite their faces, perhaps things would be a lot better for everyone.


	58. Chapter 58

Chapter _58_

 _The attitudes of the villagers both shocked and didn't at the same time. The broader community had been resentful since Voldemort's victory. They had every right to be, but he was gone now, dead. Now was the time to make things better. What she couldn't abide was when people wanted revenge more than they wanted to improve the lot of the community around them._

 _What exactly was it they hoped would happen? That the purebloods would simply disappear? That was never going to happen. It wasn't as if they could expel them and live happily ever after. It was immature and unreasonable to insist on something that could simply not happen. The mature thing to do was to make things better, to push for more equality, and to create a society that was fair and tolerable for everyone. But nothing would happen at once. It wasn't as if they could reset the land and everyone would be happy tomorrow. It was a process, and not participating in it was idiotic._

 _It only proved how important this council was. It was the only way to give people a voice, a means to address grievances. A king would mean they were stuck with that person's view of the world. A council, later a parliament, would provide the means of bringing in other voices. A king would mean that the pureblood dictum would be the only one going._

 _The return back to the castle went by in a flash. The villager's belligerence only fired her blood. She was more motivated than ever to ensure this council worked and stayed. Maybe because in their anger and resentment, the villagers were unable to bring change on their own. It was a shame they had to deal with such short-sightedness._

 _What she didn't quite know was what was next. The wheat market needed to be established. Could Terry be trusted with doing so, she wondered. Perhaps it was best that the council met every day to discuss the matters at hand. There was so very much that needed doing._

 _Some, like Pansy, would probably fall away very quickly, too uninterested to deal with issues like commodity prices. Justice was also an issue. It had been the purview of Voldemort, but they needed to establish some other mechanism. And security. They would descend into chaos if they lost control and hungry people were desperate. No, food was paramount._

 _All these thoughts were running around her head as she walked back up her tower to her apartments. The trip to Colmmire had been concerning. People were angry and resentful. That people would accuse her of being a traitor to her own people wasn't something she had come across before. On some level, she understood why they would say that, but she was also now in a position to do some good._

 _"Where have you been?" Malfoy said, startling her as she walked in the door. He sat on the sofa, looking relaxed._

 _"How did you get in?"_

 _"I asked nicely."_

 _Hermione faltered. Someone had simply let him into her apartments? Did everyone simply have access to her apartments if they asked nicely. "Asked who?"_

 _"I squeezed a little elf until he conceded. You really should do something about your security. I could have gone through and poisoned everything in your apartment by now."_

 _"I thought your wife was the poisoner."_

 _"Anyone annoyed by your insistence on our collective community service."_

 _"You, of all people, should know how necessary it is."_

 _By his silence, he grudgingly conceded. "I saw you leave."_

 _"Spying on me?"_

 _"We're all spying on each other, these days."_

 _"I went to Colmmire to see how things were for myself. I'm not sure Terry Boot can be trusted to convey the true situation to us."_

 _"And can he?"_

 _"I don't think he is quite conveying how angry people are."_

 _"Your wheat market should help," he said and rose from the sofa._

 _Hermione wasn't entirely sure the anger would be swayed by food alone. "I think more comprehensive changes are needed."_

 _"There is always people who want changes. There will always be haves and have nots. Or are you ready to hand over your estate for the collective good? If that is the case, you might as well marry me."_

 _"How would that serve the collective good, exactly?"_

 _"Any crown land is used to serve the people."_

 _Hermione shorted. "How much of the crowns resources have been used to throw lavish balls?"_

 _"I grant you that, but surely you don't have an expectation that we should all live like paupers? Are you a radical martyr, Lady Nott? If that is the case, then we need to be wary of your council, don't we?"_

 _"You know very well that I am trying to make things better, to make things fair."_

 _Malfoy smiled. She knew he thought she was an unrealistic dreamer, but so far, her council was the only thing functional around here._

 _"In fact, I think we need to hold the council meetings every day."_

 _"Seek to trudge the entire court through boredom."_

 _"Only those willing."_

 _"We don't actually have to do the administration's job for them. It's what they're there for."_

 _"After what I saw in Colmmire, I'm not sure I trust them to do it."_

 _"Singlehandedly trying to save the world, Lady Nott. Are you sure you're not throwing you hat in the ring for ruler? We could join forces. We could both achieve what we want that way."_

 _Hermione smiled. "Oh dear, is the emotional development strategy not working out?"_

 _"We could be king and queen. You would have the leeway to make the improvements you wish."_

 _"Except I wish to do away with the king."_

 _"Unfortunately, I don't think anyone else at court agrees with your sentiments. But I won't work against you. You will see that things are the way they are because they have to be."_

 _"You're wrong."_

 _His eyes traveled lower to her belly. "You shouldn't be out gallivanting around the countryside in your condition."_

 _"I am pregnant, not disabled." The truth was that she was exhausted from the journey. "And it's time for you to go. As interesting as it was having you break into my apartments, I must ask you to leave. I need to rest."_

 _"Then rest," he said gently. "I will have a guard stand duty outside."_

 _"I really don't think that is necessary."_

 _"Perhaps not, but it would certainly make me feel better."_

 _Hermione wasn't sure what to make of this protective streak in Malfoy. Granted, she did carry what he saw as his heir, and hence precious cargo._

 _She needed to rest; she had so much planning to do the rest of the evening. The evenings were long now that they didn't have events to go to. Simply the time to dress was onerous, and she had an untold amount of time on her hands now._

 _There had been an invitation to a dinner party, but she wasn't up to it_ —partially because it would be three hours of discussion for the succession, and she had better things to do.

Sitting down heavily on her bed, she forced off her shoes with her feet. The things she'd seen at Colmmire was concerning. Discontent was evident and would only rise if they didn't get their act together. The accusation that she was extending it by not throwing her support in with one camp or another bit. It wasn't as if she was the key to anyone's claim to the throne. There were plenty of people who didn't want to see either Malfoy or Wildersmith on the throne, and would work to oppose them. Her support wouldn't guarantee anything, but she had to concede that it could make things easier for the person she chose.

Malfoy offered her the role of queen. She would have power to make things happen then, but it was a massive compromise, a power granted by one man, a ruler. In truth, she almost feared Malfoy having that kind of power. He would be relentless and unstoppable. Anything he wanted would be his. Any objection she had would simply be overruled.

On the other hand, Wildersmith would see her and her baby as a threat if he managed to vanquish Malfoy.

There were no good scenarios there, which was why this council had to work. She, like the people, would be utterly vulnerable again, forced to comply with the dictates of their new liege.

With a heavy sigh, Hermione lay down. She simply had to succeed. The benefits of her council would be something she would have to promote. In order to do that, she had to fight for it, and not hide away in her apartments. It was time for tea parties and dinner invitations. Unfortunately, with this pregnancy, it was the worst time for that kind of activity. Her belly was getting heavier and more cumbersome, and her energy was flagging earlier and earlier each day. But this was the future she was fighting for.


	59. Chapter 59

Chapter _59_

 _The council had started meeting each day. It had been a simple thing to achieve. Terry was ordered to report on a specific issue the following day and a time was given. People turned up to hear or simply to not miss out._

 _The numbers did diminish as some saw no reason for their further attendance. The was what Hermione had hoped for and now they were down to a party who wanted to take part. Representatives of the main houses were there, and those ambitious enough to see this as a means of having a voice at this court._

 _"We still need to be compensated for the wheat we are forced to contribute to this programme," Varstig stated when a report on the wheat market was delivered. Behind closed lids, Hermione rolled her eyes. This same topic was brought up every time they met, courtiers squealing like stuck pigs because they had to contribute some of their wealth to the common good. Why did they have to harp over this again and again._

 _"Compensation from whom?"_

 _"The crown."_

 _"We are the crown now. Collectively, we are the crown. The nation needs this wheat. It is time to act responsibly."_

 _"How is it responsible if they cannot work out how to feed themselves," Varstig said pointedly, his contempt evident in his tone._

 _"Because Voldemort came and stripped them off their land and away from their means of feeding themselves. Now they are starving. Do we not take any responsibility for that, simply ask them to starve?"_

 _"They lost."_

 _"They aren't simply going to vanish because of that. Now we must be gracious." Hermione couldn't believe they were having this conversation. There was no empathy amongst some of the courtiers for the people beyond their families, or they refused to see beyond their own benefits and losses, be damned anyone else._

 _With the deepest offense, Varstig stormed out of the hall, some people cheering as he went. Others were scowling. Luckily, Varstig wasn't a very powerful member of the court, but he wasn't the only one who felt they had no responsibility to the people vanquished by the war. Did they not get that there would be revolt if they didn't sort this? People didn't just lie down and starve to death because some people wished it._

 _Again, Hermione wished she could be exclusive with who was picked for this council._

 _"I think Lady Nott is right," Wildersmith said. "We need to be circumspect about this. The wheat market must go ahead. Anyone who doesn't participate should leave this court."_

 _A gasp was heard around the room. She would perhaps not have suggested such finality, but Wildersmith did understand what was at stake. Perhaps he was right. They couldn't risk a full revolt and hence chaos, because some of the courtiers didn't feel like parting with some of their crop._

 _"I don't see why I should pay more than anyone else here," Humberstone said. "That is unfair."_

 _"How is that not fair?" someone else challenged. "You have more land, hence more crop. Why shouldn't you pay more?"_

 _With a sigh, Hermione felt like giving up, but she couldn't afford to. "The issue of the wheat market has been decided on," she said sharply, "and no further inquiry is needed."_

 _That did silence the dissenting voices._

 _"Now," she continued. "Captain Burgess is here to discuss raising more men for security. We have all been saddened by the horrid news of Lord Nustrom so savagely being murdered on a robbery a few days ago." The news had shocked her when she'd heard it. Lord Nustrom, one of the lesser nobles, had been traveling from his estate to the citadel and been accosted by highwaymen on the way, his throat slit. Even now, it sent a shiver of revulsion through her. Again, Lord Nustrom had been a uncompromisingly unpleasant man and Hermione could fully see him goading the men into it. Still, it was an unforgivable crime and such things had to be stopped._

 _Burgess stood up. "We have deployed more of the guard to patrol the roads, but there is more than we can cover. At this point, only the main roads can be secured. There are also reports of carts being robbed."_

 _This only went to prove how badly this wheat was needed._

 _"Press more men into service," one of the older men said._

 _"The more people we press, the less likely they are to be loyal to the crown."_

 _"If we pay them enough, I am sure they can perform," Malfoy said. He was usually quiet in the meetings. The tension between him and Wildersmith was always evident._

 _"That would mean more of the crowns coffers being redirected to security," Wildersmith said tartly in response._

 _"We have nothing if we don't have roads to safely travel," Malfoy replied._

 _"My crop a heavily guarded as it is. I have no problems. Perhaps, instead of deploying men along the roads, we deploy it to the cargo that travels the roads."_

 _"That won't solve the problems of lawlessness," Hermione pointed out._

 _"Nustrom shouldn't have scrimped when it came to his own security. He has no one to blame. Who of us don't understand that this are difficult times."_

 _"An even stronger reason to regain control," Malfoy said._

 _"Nothing is ever improved by draining the coffers."_

 _The tension in the room was rose when Wildersmith and Malfoy squared off. They were both using the council to grandstand their positioned. Their fundamental personalities showed through in their policies. Wildersmith solved the problem at hand with complete focus, ignoring less important things, while Malfoy sought to control first, then solve problems._

 _"Gentlemen," Hermione cut in. "The question at hand is if we divert more funds to Captain Burgess for more men. Let's place it to a vote."_

 _The vote was right down the middle. Half with and half against. Quite a few were abstaining. It occurred to Hermione that this vote reflected the side people were on. They voted Malfoy or Wildersmith, some refusing to voice their alliance. There wasn't a majority._

 _Hermione groaned. They needed to deal with security, but Malfoy and Wildersmith were opposing each other's views, hence placing them in a position where nothing prevailed. She could see Captain Burgess' frustration as well._


	60. Chapter 60

Chapter _60_

 _The invitation to an evening gather in at Lord Harlston's apartments came as a surprise as he'd been so awful to her as she'd first arrived, openly dismissing of anyone less than pureblood. Still, the invitation had arrived. It appeared the awful Lord Harlston was another who couldn't deny that she was too powerful to ignore in these circles._

 _As much as she wanted to ignore it, now was not the time to leave these people to their own devices. It was a precarious time and if she had to smile and make nice with a pig like Harlston, she would._

 _With a strained smile, she received his greeting when she arrived, noting the effort he had made to dress that night. Harlson preferred a more decadent way of dressing, silk and lace. The sheer wealth in his very clothes were astounding._

 _"Lady Nott," he smiled as he greeted. "It is such an honor you could some."_

 _She bet it was. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."_

 _His apartments were decorated in a similar fashion as his person. Sumptuous velvets and gold embellishments. Fine ornaments covered every surface, lending a cluttered feeling to the space as if he couldn't bear parting with any of his treasures. Clearly a man who put weight and meaning to things. Did that have something to do with his prejudices?_

 _Hermione moved on and sighed her relief. She didn't like the man, seeing him as the worst this court had to offer. Particularly as his prejudice seemed to take the place of any actual intelligence._

 _"Lady Nott," she heard Pansy's sweet voice. "We have the pleasure of your company this week. Such a delight."_

 _"Always a pleasure, Lady Vaultiers. Lovely gown you have tonight."_

 _"Do you like it? It's new. Although let me tell you what it takes to get a dress thrown together these days. My dressmaker is always grateful, of course, but the material simply aren't there. Stuck somewhere in a port."_

 _"This is worrying news." Not exactly in that ladies were deprived of dresses, but that goods weren't moving._

 _"It is awful, isn't it? I think this is something your council should look into."_

 _"Yes, I agree. But it isn't my council, Lady Vaultiers, it's all of our council. I noted you haven't been attending lately."_

 _Pansy looked sheepish. "I know I should, but it isn't my cup of tea, really. My mother always said I was too high strung to attend to such things. I really can't pay attention when people talk… business."_

 _Hermione didn't actually want her company there, she just wanted to see how Pansy defended herself. "I understand. It's not for everyone."_

 _A pleased smile spread across Pansy's lips. "And how is our marvellous Lord Malfoy? I haven't seen hide nor hair from him for a few days."_

 _Biting her lip, Hermione wondered what Pansy was insinuating. Was she expecting that Malfoy was spending his evenings in her apartments? "Can't say that I've seen him."_

 _Curious eyes were searching hers, as if Pansy could find some 'more accurate' truth there. Hermione wasn't giving her anything. "I take it he's not here, then?" Hermione said._

 _"No, most likely he's off scheming. Wildersmith is, though," she said, turning slightly to the man's direction, who stood with a group of men, speaking in low, hushed voices. A chuckle emanating from the group. "Dear Draco always has something up his sleeves, doesn't he? But then Wildersmith is a wily character. If he wasn't so portly, I might almost find him sexy. Power is such an aphrodisiac, don't you find?"_

 _"I find I prefer loyalty," Hermione said tartly._

 _"Any old loser can be loyal," Pansy said dismissively. "If that's all the cards you have to play, that is."_

 _"I am surprised you and Malfoy aren't perfectly suited."_

 _"I played it wrong with him once. Malfoy doesn't want what he already has. No challenge. Men do so love a challenge. Perhaps that's why you have all the men around here enthralled."_

 _Hermione absorbed the statement, wondering what intentions Pansy had for saying it. Without a doubt, the woman was stirring. One moment, Pansy was pushing her toward Malfoy, the next, trying to drive through a schism. "Hardly enthralled, Pansy," Hermione said. "Wary. So much more captivating."_

 _Pansy's tinkling laugh echoed off the high ceiling._

 _Raised voice broke through and both of their attention turned toward the noise. A crash of glass pierced. "Despicable bastard," a male voice said. "Hardly surprising since your mother made her way through the barracks."_

 _More noise followed and it was clear that a full scuffle had broken out. A flash of pushing arms through the crowd._

 _"You watch your mouth, Fronsac. You're as useless as your father. A joke. Your whole family has never been anything but a joke."_

 _Interfering hands broke the scuffle apart and what looked like Fronsac departed with a huff, still yelling abuse at his nemesis._

 _"Rosenbaum, I take it," Pansy said. "Those two have always hated each other."_

 _Hermione recalled an incident some while back when Rosenbaum had been awarded a portion of Fronsac's land._

 _"Poor Rosalie," Pansy said. "She must be mortified. Poor thing. Her husband has an astounding lack of control. I should see to her."_

 _"Of course," Hermione said, not exactly trusting Pansy's concern._

 _"Age-old fractures are all coming up for air," Wildersmith said beside her. Hermione hadn't seen him approach. "On one to keep them under wraps now. Got nothing to fear now."_

 _"They should. Does no one fear the world falling to pieces?"_

 _"They are too short-sighted. Perhaps you need to wonder if you are doing anyone a favor by getting in the way of the new king being crowned."_

 _Hermione turned to him. "Really?" she said. "So, if I pledge my loyalty to Malfoy, you will gracefully step aside?"_

 _A grimace twisted his mouth. The defiance in his eyes was apparent. Of course he wouldn't. He would keep fighting. "I thought so," she said, turning her attention back to where people were still milling after the upset. "My picking sides won't solve anything. Both of you just want me as a string in your bow. Neither of you will give up on your campaign no matter what I do. So please, don't try to pull the wool over my eyes, because the effort isn't appreciated. While you two are comparing cocks, I will get on with the business of stopping things from falling apart. Don't get in my way, or I really will pick sides."_

 _Wildersmith chuckled and crooned. "No one can ever accuse you of threading softly, my lady. You never fail to squeeze us by the balls. With some more figuratively, while others literally. We really should learn not to underestimate you."_

 _"Perhaps you shouldn't underestimate the peril we are in while you are distracted by your own ambition. As someone who wishes to rule this nation, I would have thought you would be supremely concerned with ensuring there is a nation left to rule. There are more important things to worry about than succession."_

 _"You are right, of course. This will be inevitably be a drawn out affair. A bigger worry is perhaps that the new liege will not have the power to control the court. Soon everyone will be taking out their grievances on each other. And where is Lord Malfoy tonight?"_

 _"I have no idea," Hermione said. Wildersmith, like Pansy, was probably also assuming they were more familiar than they actually wore._

 _"Hasn't grazed us with his presence. That is a worry."_

 _"Why is that a worry?"_

 _"Don't you know that our esteemed Lord Malfoy is always most dangerous when he is silent?"_

 _Hermione couldn't help goosebumps rising along her arms. Thankfully, they were covered._

 _"If he is not here," Wildersmith continued. "He is assuredly somewhere else."_

 _"Logic would dictate."_

 _"The question is where and why? In due course, we will know, no doubt. Question is: who will he act against? Me or you?"_

 _"Why would he act against me?"_

 _"My dear, why wouldn't he? The fastest and effective way for him to gain strength is still through you. Have you forgotten that? Your lands are still a shining beacon for anyone who wants power."_

 _"My lands are well protected."_

 _Wildersmith's eyes deliberately drifted down to her belly. "Of course they are. Your defenses against his advances have been admirable to date." A saccharine smile graced his lips before he departed._

 _It wasn't just Rosenbaum's and Fronsac's relationship that had taken on a more honest tone. Wildersmith didn't sugar-coat his sentiments either, these days._

 _Still, she couldn't quite shake the ill feeling Wildersmith had been so careful at cultivating, even when she knew exactly what he'd done and intended. The truth was that she had no idea what Malfoy was doing, but it was unlikely he was sitting at home by the fire, reading a book._


	61. Chapter 61

Chapter _61_

 _A subdued mood greeted Hermione as she walked into the council meeting the next day. It had stopped being a novelty now, which meant there wasn't much fanfare with a council meeting. Hermione had a mission following her recent discussion with Pansy. Pansy's difficult dress was likely an indication of a much bigger problem._

 _Terry Boot was there with exasperated resignation. Few of the attendees to these meetings seemed to trust him to use his own judgment when it came down to it, and the fact greatly annoyed him. He still had a habit of hiding things, which only increased their distrust. Captain Burgess was typically silent unless there was something he wanted to say. If it didn't involve the guard or security, he was categorically not interested._

 _Fronsac appeared looking sullen and withdrawn. His confrontation the other night still sat with him, it appeared. Wildersmith appeared to, leisurely nodded his head to Hermione when their eyes met._

 _Hermione sighed. The sense of cooperation and achievement she had envisioned these meetings hadn't quite eventuated. All around her were sullen faces. Malfoy finally appeared in all his stoic glory._

 _"Shall we start," Terry said. "There are still signs of food shortages in certain parts. We haven't managed to collect as much as we would wish."_

 _A groan was heard in the hall._

 _"Maybe if you worked more efficiently and did waste so much of it."_

 _Terry was offended._

 _"Maybe if you didn't try to cheat your way out of your contribution another said."_

 _"Enough," Hermione said, her patience coming to an end. "Everyone will have to contribute what they owe. There will be no one contributing less than required."_

 _"Some are dragging their feet fronting up with it."_

 _"Then perhaps we need to be more active collecting it," Hermione stated._

 _"That is not within the mandate of this council. You don't have the right on go on my land. None of you do." It was Lord Carrow speaking._

 _"Then deliver what you owe," Malfoy said. A resentful silence settled on the group. They were still upset about the wheat contribution, which Hermione found really disheartening, particularly as it was such a pressing issue and not really something that required a great deal_ —simply a contribution.

"I have heard," she started, wanting to get on with more pressing business. "That good other goods are not traveling between towns."

Terry looked uncomfortable, and Hermione knew there was something he was hiding.

"Are the roads not safe?" she questioned.

"The main roads are safe," Captain Burgess cut in.

"Then what is the issue?"

Terry's mouth drew together. "There is a small issue in that _some_ traders don't feel they can trust Voldemort's galleons."

The answer surprised Hermione. It wasn't an issue she had anticipated.

"They don't trust money?" Humberston said with a laugh. "Who would be silly enough not to trust money?"

"There is a belief that the crown in not standing by the currency," Terry said.

"Of course it is," Humberston said, his voice booming.

"What has given them indication that it won't?" Hermione asked.

Terry shrugged. This time she did believe him.

"Then we must give them assurance," Malfoy said. "Issue a statement. In fact, they them purchase from the crown. That will do more to boost confidence if we are actively accepting them."

"Purchase what?" someone said.

"The things they need," Hermione said, her eyes seeking Malfoy. "If goods aren't moving, maybe we move them and sell. A stop gap measure until traders start trading."

"We don't have the men to spare to run around moving goods around the land," Terry said.

"Then hire people. There seem to be enough people out of work. Give them work and at the same time solve the problem."

"We would never recuperate the money we lay down."

"Who says? And even if we don't, it is worth is avoiding provisioning collapsing."

"It is not the crowns business to take over such things," Carrow said.

"It is the crowns business to avoid a collapse of any of society's functions," Hermione argued. "We focus on the necessities, food, farm equipment and supplies, animal feed, wood and steel—the things that are necessary for production. We cannot afford for any of these things to be scarce."

Carrow was shaking his head.

"We don't have the funds to conduct such an operation. The lessening of movement has meant that taxes hasn't been refilling our coffers. We simply don't have the funds."

"Then sell something," Hermione said. "Raise the money."

"Sell what?"

"Land. The crown has plenty of it," Malfoy said.

"Hold on," Wildersmith said. "The land belongs to the crown. We can't just sell it."

"Why not? I am sure we can find buyers for it. No one in this room seem overly keen to contribute their wealth to maintain the crown, but there is enough wealth in this room."

Hermione felt uncomfortable. "The land, although ill managed, is needed to feel the population."

"That is an issue for the new king to deal with."

"Stripped of land and wealth. The crown will be a joke."

"I suppose the crown would have to be supported by personal wealth."

Wildersmith glowered at Malfoy. Hermione wasn't quite sure what was going on. Was he banking on Wildersmith not wanting to part with his personal wealth to achieve his ambition. There was something to be said for it. Then again, less power in the hands of the crown couldn't be bad. Her ambition was to decrease the power of the ruler so they could avoid the situation Voldemort had put them all in. "I second that," she said.

Outrage broke out in some quarters. Wildersmith was livid. Apparently, he did not want to part with his personal wealth for the sake of the nation. Not that she could see Malfoy doing so either, but then the ruler would have the power to stack the system to award themselves in exchange for the risk.

"It is not our place to make such fundamental decisions about the future and function of the realm," Wildersmith said.

"Why not?" Malfoy returned. "We are, after all, going to have to solve the leadership issue at some point."

"Not by toying with the fundamentals of the crown."

"Then in what way would you suggest?"

"You are too careless to rule," Wildersmith said.

"And you are too greedy."

"Gentlemen," Hermione said, stepping in to break the eye contact between them. "Perhaps we should break apart and let cooler heads think things over."

"We're not selling crown land," Wildersmith stated.


	62. Chapter 62

Chapter _62_

 _Most of the soirees around the citadel were smaller in nature. Natural lines for social or ideological persuasions determined the groups that grew even tighter. Increasingly, the courtiers splintered into even smaller and smaller groups, but not everyone was happy with this. For this reason, a salon had been started in the early evenings, where people could come a mingle._

 _It hadn't been anything specifically intended, but it grew and grew, welcoming anyone. For all the splintering, the courtiers still wanted to come together and observe each other._

 _It also served as a good conduit for communications as the council tended to focus exclusively on the needs related to the administration of the realm. It didn't provide a place for gathering that many obviously sought._

 _Fudge had stayed away for a while after his scuffle with Rosenbaum, but Hermione saw him enter the salon, his mouth drawn and his head held high. The anger in him was still evident, and it wouldn't surprise her if there was a second act to the proceedings. There appeared to be no means for which Fudge received satisfaction from his aggrievance, and voicing them no longer upset the ruler._

 _Ackerley approached her and she smiled at him. Ackerley had always been one of the more reasonable courtiers._

 _"I do so miss how it was," a woman said, speaking to her companion as she passed. "Voldemort did know how to put on a party. He did understand the power of a spectacle. We don't even get food now."_

 _Gritting her teeth, Hermione stopped herself from rolling her eyes. How could they be nostalgic about Voldemort? Did they so easily forget his other side, the one where he murdered at will and made them watch. People could be so very blinded. But the luxuries and expenditure on them made up for the bad things in some people's eyes._

 _No one was putting on spectacles or lavish meals now that the entertaining was done exclusively out of their private pockets. People felt worthy of it, but didn't want to pay for it. And the absence of the luxuries was the primary concern for some. Hermione couldn't respect the attitude. How stupid could you get._

 _"I honestly can't stand some of these people," she said as Malfoy approached._

 _He smiled. "I_ t seems like most others, your tolerance if growing shorter."

"Voldemort enforced tolerance on us. Civility was a survival mechanism."

"Are you saying I am not civil?"

"Perhaps you are civil beyond the capabilities of some of these silk wrapped animals," Malfoy said, looking around the room. "They cling to their fineries, lost without them."

The words were harsh and they sobered her. For a moment, things seemed more barbarous and arbitrary. Malfoy had a way of seeing the worst in people. And just this moment, she had a hard time arguing. These women who mourned the madness of Voldemort's reign, because they had now lost some of their advantages, never seeing beyond their own boredom and amusement.

Men who were obsessed with their own grievances, willing to ignore the larger threat as long as their offense still existed. "We aren't going to make it, are we?" she said, feeling a moment of despondency.

"We have to," Malfoy responded, and for once, he was the upbeat out of the two of them. She'd been so focus on getting this council working, forcing them to focus and deal with the problems and find some way of preserving the vital functions. "Voldemort left us with quite a mess to clean up, but he was never going to do anything else. He was like a hurricane, leaving utter destruction in his path."

"Does that mean it is time to clean up? What if we don't gain control? Who is to say that a new ruler would even work, even if we do survive the choosing of one? There has to be strength in the system. It is the only way we will survive. Please tell me you see that."

He smiled. "Despondence can't keep you down for long, can it?"

"Because we must act. Things are only going to get worse if we let things slip."

Yelling broke out and Hermione sighed. For once, couldn't they just act civilized? It only went to prove her suspicion that they simply didn't have the wherewithal to pull themselves together.

"You're a coward and a cheat," someone accused.

"Please, Lukas," some woman pleaded. "Let's not make a scene."

"You can't stay with him. This is obscene. You are my wife." Lord Bridgetonne's distinct voice boomed across the room. All eyes were on the dramatics unfolding.

"Lukas," the woman said with a warning voice.

"She's chosen to come to me, Bridgetonne. Her time with you have proven less than… satisfactory. Hence, it has been more than easy for me to swoop in and simply claim her."

"Steal from me? I will destroy you. You're nothing puffed up pompous ass."

"I'm not an object that belongs to you, Lukas," the woman said, anger in her voice. "I have put up with your dribble long enough and it's time to see the end of it. I have moved on and I suggest you do the same."

"We're leaving," Tellisford said, turning with his lover and assumedly new fiancé hanging off his arm. "You always were better than him. I don't understand how your family could be so short-sighted as to align you with him. He really should take these things with more circumspection. He couldn't possibly be surprised, could he?"

The lovers quickly swept out of the room, Lord Bridgetonne ungraciously petulant, his harsh words echoing off the ceiling.

"Who says we don't get performances anymore?" Malfoy said tartly and Hermione gave him a chiding look. "Lord Bridgetonne has been of risk of losing his ambitious wife for some time."

The Hassop family determinedly seemed to be ignoring what had just happened as their daughter had just upgraded her position in a very public fashion. The public nature of it had to be intentional, either to embarrass Bridgetonne as much as possible. Lord Bridgetonne was not a good enemy to have, but Hermione suspected this was a precursor to a further move they expected to make—one that required Bridgetonne's stocks to be somewhat diminished. Getting publically and brutally cut by one's wife was an extremely effective way to achieving that.

"Adoring wives, aren't they sweet?" Malfoy said with a faux shocked expression. His eyes glittered as he turned to her. "Sooner or later you find a knife in your back."

"I would have thought the experience would have scared you away from the institution entirely."

"We are slaves to our own hearts, aren't we?"

Hermione chuckled. "I doubt there was a heart between the three of them."

"You are probably right there. Marsha Hassop's interest has always been her family first. I suppose there is something commendable in that."

Pansy appeared and their conversation stalled. "Such dramatics," she said, fanning herself. "Tellisford has made his move. I wonder how he managed to secure Marsha. No doubt, cold hard galleons were involved. It's the only thing that would make Marsha Hassop hot and bothered. Bold move. Could backfire, but she is banking on that it won't. The sands are ever changing. Decade old alliances crumble in the span of fifteen minutes."

"Opportunities for some. If Fudge was smart, now would be the time to act," Malfoy said. "An alliance with Bridgetonne now would change the landscape dramatically for his little feud with Rosenbaum."

"Rosenbaum looks furious," Pansy said, leisurely looking around. Hermione followed her gaze to where Fudge was engaging with Bridgetonne, who looked too distracted to even listen. Still, the intention registered with Rosenbaum. "I think he would ever fall into your camp?" Pansy's question was directed to Malfoy.

"He has been under Wildersmith's thumb for a long time, taking orders and serving his master. It would be interesting to see if I can steal him away."

"I will bet you one hundred galleons." Pansy's voice was light with amusement, biting her lip coyly, while Hermione felt uncomfortable with the idea of betting on the loyalty of people. "When it comes down to it, old alliances mean nothing compare to who they think is going to win this race for the throne. No one wants to be on the losing side, do they? I mean, does anyone really trust Wildersmith? He's shown he is willing to do whatever it takes for his own gain, and that includes stabbing his own people in the back if it serves his purposes." Pansy's eyes traveled over Hermione as if specifically warning her.

"He isn't the only one," Hermione said.

"Still resistant to your charms, then?" Pansy said to Malfoy with a giggle. Hermione felt like strangling her. This was all a game to Pansy, everchanging shifts of loyalties and allegiances. It was all about the game, even relationships. Most of all marriages. "I see Lord Harlston is leaving. Wildersmith met with him earlier today, I hear."

There wasn't a look of surprise on Malfoy's face, so Hermione suspected he already knew this. How many spies did he have in the castle now? Was he spying on her too? Of course he was. For a moment, she wondered how much he actually trusted her. He'd said he wanted to marry her. Did he trust her to stand at his back without fearing a knife sinking into his flesh?

The sweetness of their trip to Colmmire returned. He'd been caring and even honorable. That day, she had seen a different side of him, the side that represented a man she could respect—even love. They'd kissed and it had been sweet. A part of her knew it had been a bad idea, but she had wanted to thank him for in that moment being the kind of man she wanted to see, to be with.

That attraction was still there, deeply rooted inside her and it had welled to the surface with that kiss. And then things had changed. Voldemort had died, and the world came crashing into the little, fragile bubble of understanding they had reached. It felt so far away now, because there was also this side to him, the one that would be on being able to steal someone's loyalty. Well, he hadn't actually said. It was Pansy who had said it, but he hadn't opposed her.

The question was: would she trust him at her back? Like Marsha Hassop, was he simply looking for his next step to increase his power and influence. A voice in her refused to believe it, wanted him to be the man in Colmmire, who would risk so much to do the right thing. She had trusted him then, had been willing to place her own safety in his hands.

Was that entirely true, though? Hadn't she trusted him because he has been incriminating himself just as much as she had. Had he simply shown he was willing to take a risk? But on what? There was still the chance that the risk had been simply to convince her. He would take risks to sway her to him. It could all be very planned and crafted.

If only she could crack open his head and know the thoughts inside. Could she trust the sentiments out of his mouths, the expression on his face? Did she even trust the lust? No, that had to be real. If not, she was being fooled by the consummate player.


	63. Chapter 63

Chapter _63_

 _The next council meeting was a contentious one as Hermione had learned to expect. Difference in ideology were appearing with every subject they tackled. Wildersmith was increasingly difficult, having chosen the council as his platform for exercising his influence. Increasingly he was opposing anything she said and it was becoming clear that they were no longer simply discussing the issues. The politics of succession had entered the council._

 _It was a difficult day for Hermione. Sleep had been hard and her joints had ached during the night. Tiredness clung to her mind like a parasite, robbing her of joy with the important work of the council. It felt harder to muster up the concentration needed._

 _They were talking about the ports and the tariffs being gathered but not forwarded to appropriate channels. There were people profiting off the misery being inflicted on the nation. Surprisingly, everyone on the council was offended by this, but they couldn't agree on what needed to be done. Some favored fast and ubiquitous action that Voldemort seemed to prefer, where the innocents suffered by association_ —by association meaning living nearby.

One of the guard appeared and whispered animatedly in Captain Burgess' ear. The man frowned and took a moment to absorb it before he gave orders. The guard retreated and Burgess approached Terry. Whatever the news was, it stopped him short and they conferred between themselves until Wildersmith forcefully cleared his throat.

"It seems," Terry started in a light tone, "that we have suffered a tragedy. Lord Delwart Fudge has suffered a misadventure."

"What misadventure?"

"He fell… from his balcony."

The room was silent for a moment.

"Is he alright?" Hermione asked.

"No, it was fatal," Burgess said. "A fifty-foot fall at the very least."

"A tragedy," Terry said. "I am sure we are all sorry to hear this news. Not as much as his family, of course. Have they been informed?"

"Not yet," Burgess replied.

"We will, of course, call everyone together to grieve this misfortune."

"Hold on," Malfoy said. "People don't simply fall from their balconies."

"They do, actually. Maladies of the mind. It isn't the first time it's happened. It is very tragic. Let us deal with it. We have the processes in place for events like this."

Hermione looked to Burgess to see what his expression said, but as per typical, it was completely unreadable. For a moment, she wanted to believe it was an accident, but this wasn't a place for accidents. Nothing happened around here without furthering someone's agenda, and there was no doubt that this death furthered Rosenbaum's agenda, and who knew who else.

Terry rushed out of the room, effectively ending the council session.

"Another death," said Ackerley, who was sitting next to her. "They seem to rip through us, shock us to the core. Fudge isn't anywhere near the shock that Voldemort's death. That sounds awful, doesn't it? I meant—"

"I know what you meant," Hermione cut in.

Ackerley shuddered. "Falling to one's death. That must be awful. Do you think he might have been drunk? Perhaps he hadn't been conscious of it."

"It's prior to lunch. I doubt he was drunk." Fudge wasn't known for being a lush. There were some people around here for whom news like this wouldn't be a great surprise, but Fudge wasn't one of them.

Hermione's eyes sought Malfoy and she saw his scowl. He didn't think it was likely to be an accident either. Her gaze traveled along to Wildersmith, who was deep in conversation with Carrow. To Hermione, it felt almost as if Wildersmith had been privy to the conversation the other night when they had bet that Malfoy could steal Bridgetonne from him. Fudge had been trying to improve his position with Bridgetonne.

There was no way Wildersmith could have overheard that, unless either Malfoy or Pansy told him. Malfoy wouldn't have, but could Pansy have? Was this some means for Wildersmith to exact his retribution?

Wild thoughts were running away with her. Of course not, she chided her; she was being fanciful. If anyone had wanted to hurt Fudge, it would have been Rosenbaum.

Rosenbaum was standing nearby, looking almost pleased with this news. "Obviously, I can't say this news distresses me. No one deserved it more than that little twerp. The world does right itself after a while, doesn't it?"

Someone in his group said something she couldn't overhear.

"Not me," Rosenbaum said, offended. "I haven't been anywhere near his apartments in weeks. Why would I go there? And I spent the morning in Madam Gwenoch's delectable… parlor. Came straight here. I haven't even been back to my apartments. Poor Fudge, he will be missed," Rosenbaum said without an ounce of seriousness.

Hermione hadn't known Rosenbaum had been having an affair with Madam Gwenoch, who's stocks had flagged since Voldemort's death. It seemed she had found her new champion in Rosenbaum. If this were true, it meant Rosenbaum had an alibi for all of this morning. It didn't necessarily mean he was responsible.

The idea of someone coming into Fudge's apartments and manhandling him over the balcony made Hermione's blood run cold, but she knew fell well there were people here who would. From what she'd heard, it wasn't the first time someone had murdered a rival. In the past, though, Voldemort took deep offense to anyone questioning the security of his courtiers. It had seemed like lack of control when they were murdering each other under his nose. He had strongly discouraged it—if they didn't have his support.

But there was no Voldemort to keep people in check anymore. This was becoming apparent in almost every way of life at the citadel. There was no higher power and nothing to fear. What would happen when this person was caught? They would have to conduct a trial.

=0=

Most people wore dark and muted colors at the gathering than had been called to mourn the passing of one of the esteemed members of the court. It was the first gathering planned and executed by the administration since Voldemort's death.

Finger food went around the space on trays. It was a muted affair compared to something Voldemort would have planned. Then again, she had never seen him plan a mourning.

From what she'd heard, the funeral was to be back at the Fudge estate, his remains already having been transported, along with a contingent of guard in case some desperate robbers attack the convoy.

Whispers filled the whole room, about Fudge's death, the succession and who knew what else. Hermione absolutely didn't want to be there, but felt she had to pay her respects. The day seemed to go from bad to worse, but not as bad a day as Fudge was having.

Hermione couldn't help but doubt that they would never find the killer. Rosenbaum had a solid alibi. He could have hired someone and used Madam Gwenoch to ensure he was nowhere near the crime. Unless some witness to the transaction came forward, they would never know. That wasn't right. It couldn't be right that someone simply gets murdered and the killer gets away with it.

Smiling wryly, Hermione wondered at the change. No one would have batted an eye at Voldemort killing without recourse, but that tolerance wasn't extended to anyone else. They had to find who did this. The fundamentals of this court was undermined if they could simply start murdering each other.

"So sad," a woman said amongst the group of people Hermione was finding herself in. "And the poor family. Such a shock."

"And now without an heir. What is to become of the Fudge lands?"

Hermione felt a bone deep sigh. Did these people think of nothing but who would gain? A person had died, and all they were interested in was who would benefit from it.

"Obviously, Rosenbaum needs to watch out," Florence Yaxley said. "As he holds some of the Fudge land, it could be that the new owner takes offense. If they are stronger then Rosenbaum, they will want that land back. I would if I were in their shoes."

Hermione excused herself from the group, feeling like she needed air. It was hard not to feel deflated. Nothing seemed to be going well. As hard as she tried, she couldn't stop feeling like everything was sliding sideways. People seemed incapable of thinking about the greater good, even for themselves, let alone for the broader community. Now this, murder to get what you want. Should they all simply go around killing each other.

Feeling despondent, she returned to her apartments, but had to admit there was a new wariness in her as she walked through the length, dark corridors back to her rooms. Perhaps she should have waited for Malfoy and walked with him. No, she refused to cower to fears. They weren't all madmen, running around killing each other. It was time to pull themselves together.

=0=

Hermione had stood staring at her door to her balcony for a few moment. It still seemed surreal that Fudge had been murdered just the previous day. It had been such a normal day. She had been cranky with lack of sleep, but someone had crawled around the castle with awful intentions. Truly, she hoped Fudge hadn't suffered too much, fearing she was being overly optimistic. Poor Fudge. It all seemed so cruel.

Noises filtered up from below and she looked down. For a moment, she thought it was Malfoy's carriage down there being prepared, but it wasn't. It was some other carriage, one she didn't recognize. Ladies in fine dresses were milling around, almost looking like flowers from Hermione's high vantage point. Trunks were being heaved on a cart behind the carriage.

Someone was leaving, and by the looks of what they were taking with them, it was for some time. Could it be that they were fleeing the citadel, that they feared these new developments and decided to was best to make haste in realizing their absence. It could be seen that Fudge's death was the harbinger of disintegration. Was what they were seeing the courting coming undone at the seams.

Fudge's death was going to make everyone wary and mistrustful. They did, after all, have a murderer in their midst. Was some smiling face hiding horrid intentions and intents.

Increasingly, she was becoming aware in her heart there was a thought she didn't want to give voice to—the hope that Malfoy had nothing to do with this. The worst was that he hadn't looked surprised when the news had broken that Fudge had died. Surely, he could not be involved. Yes, he was ruthless and even callous, but he couldn't murder someone for his own gain, could he? Someone who had kindness in them, could not be so callous. Malfoy did have kindness and graciousness in him; she had to believe that. He was the father of her child.

The fact that she carried this doubt, however small it was, hurt her. Increasingly, she felt like she needed to know what was true in his head and in his heart. Their little games of seduction and one upmanship was unimportant now. This was getting serious. They had to know if they could trust each other. It actually would crush her if it turned out that she had been wrong, that she couldn't trust him. It was time to lay the cards on the table. She needed him to be truthful.


	64. Chapter 64

Chapter _64_

 _It felt like everything was slipping out of control. She'd held on so tight, but it felt as if it just kept on slipping out of her hands. A person was dead and the court was in uproar, in shock. It was one of them, this time. Voldemort had been a shock, but for some reason, this felt closer to home. Perhaps because it wasn't a ruler and natural target, or some murderer with an age-old grudge. This was them infighting._

 _The situation had slipped to a new level. Intrigue and political manoeuvring was part of the game, but someone had murdered. The game had become deadly. Someone had overstepped the mark._

 _This had to be punished. They couldn't get back on track unless they did._

 _A knock sounded at Hermione's door and for the first time, she was fearful, but chided herself for it. It wasn't some insane courtier with their raised knife on the other side, ready to stab her. Her fears were running away with her. That was the side effects of the recent developments. It was as if their footing had shifted and now no one knew where they were_ —staring at each other with suspicion.

Her worst fear would be that they couldn't step back from this precipice, that they were now bound to take a step over into chaos.

Steadying her runaway fears, she walked to the door and open it. Malfoy stood on the other side.

"Come in," she said.

There was a pensiveness about him and she suddenly felt grateful it hadn't been him who had suffered the brunt of someone's enraged out lash. The blood was still fresh in her mind's eye. Malfoy would be a natural target, but Tilley had copped it. Poor Tilley.

"Has there been any news?" Hermione asked.

"Captain Burgess is making inquiries."

"I would have thought we were all under too close surveillance for the administration not to know who did it. Surely, they must know."

"Perhaps the eyes and ears have been failing since Voldemort's death."

"There must be some way we can restore calm," Hermione said. "We all need to take a step back and reassess what has just happened. None of us want to live like this. Rationality must be restored. If we are chaos, the whole realm will be chaos. No doubt news will have spread about this. We have no chance if we aren't united."

"We aren't united." He sat on the sofa, looking calm. How could he be so calm when they were coming apart at the seams?

Hermione walked over to the other sofa and sat down. "The campaigns between you and Wildersmith must stop. It is a the core of what is tearing this court apart."

"This was perhaps inevitable."

"I will speak to Wildersmith. He will see reason. He was never an unreasonable man."

"He has power in his sights, and he is willing to do anything."

"Are you saying he is responsible for Tilley's death? We can't say that. There is no proof of anything of the sort. The only one with a grudge against Tilley is you."

"This isn't about grudges anymore, Hermione," he said. It was rare that he used her name. It stopped her short. "This is about power."

She rose, feeling like she couldn't sit still anymore. "This quest for power is destroying everything. Why couldn't we all have invested in the council? It could have worked."

"Power at any price," he said.

Would they save themselves all this chaos if they just gave into him? Mollify to save themselves from his ruthless ambition. Hermione had to wonder if Wildersmith would be just as bad as Voldemort. He seemed willing to do just about anything to get what he wanted—unless Malfoy was lying. The sad truth was that she couldn't trust him implicitly. He was just as ambitious. Perhaps he was telling her exactly what she wanted to hear, playing Wildersmith out to be the villain.

He looked so beautiful, so compelling, she wondered if she sometimes wished a purer heart inside him than really was.

Tyranny had a tendency to win if they weren't strong, or rational. "We have to be rational, to speak until everyone sees sense. There must be something we can do. A council is more important than ever. If we cannot sort ourselves out, we have no means of keeping control of the realm. Chaos will descend. We can still come back from this. These last few days have been a step in the wrong direction. We just have to pull ourselves back."

"There is something I think you need to see," he said.

Hermione's eyes shot to him. No, not more bad news. She didn't want more bad news, but his voice indicated that there was something material she didn't know about. She closed her eyes and fought the hopelessness that threatened. "Where."

"I will take you. My carriage is ready down in the courtyard."

Whatever it was, was away from the city. Something bad was going on outside, perhaps in Colmmire. "Please just tell me."

"You have to see it," he said and rose. "Grab a coat."

He walked to the door and waited. As per normal, she found it hard to read his face. It had to be serious. He'd had a carriage prepared already, which meant he had come to her apartments for the purpose of showing this to her.

With mounting tension, she walked over to grab her coat and gloves. He came to help her get into it, his knuckles lightly grazing the skin of her neck as he did. Goosebumps rose along her skin at the touch. He still had the means of physically reducing her to aching need if she gave into it. Maybe it was time that she paid attention to that.

It could be that they needed to join forces in order to fight the threat that Wildersmith was posing. It would mean accepting Malfoy's ambition. That still prickled. No one should have the amount of power that Voldemort had insisted on. Sadly, they didn't seem capable of coming together and curtailing them. As a group, they hadn't managed to achieve anything. They were too busy fighting each other. The disappointment of that fact bit hard.

Malfoy led her out, tucking her arm in his as they walked down the stairs. She could feel the warmth of his body through the material of his jacket. "Won't you need a coat?"

"It's already in the carriage."

They walked down in silence. Hermione had to take care. Her ankles weren't as strong as normal—a weakness that came with pregnancy.

The wind was harsh when they reached the courtyard, and Malfoy's sleek, black carriage stood waiting. His horses were perfectly black as well. The springs gave as she stepped up into the enclosed cabin. Malfoy sat down opposite her and they quickly set off.

"How do you travel?" he asked and she knew he meant with her belly.

"Babies like movement," she said and he looked surprised. "It lulls them."

"Can you feel it moving?"

"Yes."

For a moment, he let his guard down and he frowned. It was still so hard to read him, to understand what went on in that head of his—the true him and not the face he showed the world, including her.

The road was empty. They passed a few carts here and there, but there seemed to be little other traffic. A one point, a contingent of guard passed them, riding at speed.

"We are not going to Colmmire," she said, noting as they passed by the road that led there.

"No."

"Then, where are we going?"

"Malfoy Manor."

Hermione's gaze traveled from the landscape to him, a fission of discomfort traveling up her spine. "Why are we going to Malfoy Manor?"

"Because the citadel is no longer safe. This is just the beginning and you are no longer safe."

"So you are taking me away under deception? It is not your place to make such decisions!" she said harshly. "I can't believe you have done this."

"It is my child you are carrying and have a tendency to not see things for what they are. The citadel is no longer safe. You are a target. Do you really not think there is a threat upon your life?"

Hermione didn't know what to say for a moment. "It is dangerous times for everyone. Running away is not the answer. Take me back."

He crossed his arms to say he was refusing her edict. Hermione growled with anger. He had completely fooled her—she should have known he would do something like this. "This is not your place. You can't make decisions for me."

"Yet, I just did. If you won't take steps to protect your safety, then you force me to."

"Or you are simply getting me out of the way," she said, glaring at him.

"You will be safe at Malfoy Manor," he said, ignoring her accusation.

Anger coursed through her body. How long exactly was he expecting to keep her prisoner? The sad truth was that there was no one to hold him to account. They were completely lawless, and there was nothing but her stopping him from doing exactly as he wanted. Except her. "I will not stand for this."

"You are getting so large, you can barely move, and you will only get larger. What will you do if someone attacks you? The court is lawless. There is nothing stopping anyone from doing what they want. There is nothing stopping Wildersmith, and he knows exactly who's baby is growing in your belly."

"That doesn't mean my lot is automatically thrown in with yours."

"He is not willing to bank on your assurances. Don't you understand that he is serious about taking the crown? He needs to be stopped, or he will be just as bad as Voldemort."

"But you won't?"

He looked disappointed with her lack of faith in him. But his assurances had confirmed that he was still pitting himself against Wildersmith. He wanted the throne just as badly, and now he was getting her out of the way.


	65. Chapter 65

Chapter _66_

 _Hermione slept and slept. Tiredness still had claim on her body and it wasn't until she there was no immediate threat or issue to deal with that she realized how exhausted she was. The baby moved inside her belly, sometimes waking her. It made her smile._

 _In the space of this guest room, she could let the outside world fade away for a while. There had been too much happening, too much distraction, and she felt guilty because there had been times when she'd forgotten the baby growing in her belly. What a terrible thing to consider. But fundamentally, everything she'd done was to create a better future for her children. At no point did she want them to bow down to some all-powerful ruler who made them dance to his tune. That was worth fighting for, even if it didn't allow her to revel in this pregnancy like she had the first._

 _With a soft hand, she stroked her bump. Considering its father, this child was going to be a handful. These children had to be protected_ —all children had to be protected. It broke her heart to think there were hungry children out there, malnourished for lack of food. How could Voldemort have been so cruel and heartless? She would never understand.

Rising from the bed, she made her way to the window and looked out. The weather was still dark, the relentless clouds like a thick blanket. It would rain later, and she would be warm and safe inside this room. Wood burned in the grate, popping every once in a while. There was enough stored next to the fireplace to keep her warm for two days.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Malfoy appear, walking toward one of the outhouses, probably used to store farm equipment. A man met him, a farm manager if she would guess. Malfoy had been away from his estate for quite a while, and she could imagine there were a million things needing his attention.

Two horses were led out by a groom, and Malfoy and his companion mounted. They were off somewhere to survey or repair, or whatever he was needed for. These were things she should be doing for her own estate, not languishing in a warm room.

With a sigh, Hermione drew away from the window. These felt like stolen moment, as if she didn't have the right to simply be here doing nothing. What she needed to do was actually deal with this situation, with Malfoy. This had to stop. She couldn't afford to hide away at this point. Hopefully, in the future, things would be stable enough, but the whole nation was in crisis. Malfoy was being the selfish one, even if she took some time to enjoy the peace and solitude.

His rooms were right next door, he had said—where he undressed and slept. She had seen him in that state before, when he'd been injured and bedridden—vulnerable. How was it she had learned so much about him, and still knew so little?

Her door wasn't locked when she tested it. He hadn't come along while she'd slept and locked in. Walking down the hall, she tested the next door and it turned under her hand. It seemed he didn't lock his either. For a man of calculation and mystery, he didn't seem to protect his secrets so well when at home.

The door swung open to a large room, decorated in dark colors. It was colder than hers, the fire dying in the grate. The bed was unmade, the white sheets rumpled. A rush of something flowed through her at the thought—him lost in sleep, those ever searching and intense eyes closed.

Looking around, she saw things strewn across a table and a desk. These things all had some meaning or use to him, the artefacts of his life. Was he different here at his estate from what he was at the citadel? She was fairly certain Theo had been. The Theo she had known would not have been like he was at the citadel; he would have been harder, more assertive—maybe even ruthless. She had never seen that part of him.

She shouldn't be here. It was an invasion of privacy, a place she didn't belong. Silently, she slipped out and closed the door, as if the room might note her presence and inform on her. For some reason, she didn't want Malfoy to know about her curiosity about him. She shouldn't be curious about him. He'd just kidnapped her and was keeping her prisoner in his house.

Dressing properly, she went downstairs, exploring the large house. It spoke of long standing traditions. The lack of an heir took on a new quality here, where he wasn't simply Malfoy, but the steward of a long and proud family history.

The thing showed that they had consistently come from wealth. There were no farm hands apart of this family. None of the women in these portraits would ever have had the rough hands she'd had when she'd met Theo Nott. Probably like Draco, the Malfoy's married for advantage, not because they fell in love with some inappropriate girl.

=0=

The sun set and darkness grow outside. Hermione hadn't bothered lighting a candle and the fire cast shadows across the walls. She heard Malfoy arrive home, heard his voice carried on the wind as he conveyed orders.

She heard his footsteps in the hall outside her room, then drew quiet as he retreated into his own room.

Hermione lay on the bed with a book resting beside her. The weight of her belly was now too uncomfortable for lying on her back. These last few months were going to be uncomfortable.

A knock on the door pierced through her room and she pushed herself off the bed, still wearing the only dress in the wardrobe that would accommodate her shape.

He stood leaning on the door frame as she opened, his hair wet. He'd washed quickly, maybe even bathed. "Supper is about to be served." Holding his arm for her, he waited.

She didn't want to take it. "I am still here under protest."

"Duly noted," he said and followed as she walked ahead. As annoyed as she was, she couldn't escape the fact that she was famished. Being pregnant didn't lend itself toward skipping meals, no matter how justified the reason.

In her exploration, she knew where the dining hall was. It was a large room with dark mahogany furniture. A fire kept the room warm, though. Their place settings were on opposite sides of the table, hers placed where the lady of the house should sit. What was he trying to say, she wondered.

Service began the moment they sat down and the first course was presented. Hermione said no to the claret.

"How long are you planning on keeping me here?" she said, looking down the table at him pointedly.

"As long as I must."

"You will, of course, at some point, be held to account for your actions."

"Probably, but you will be alive and so will the child. I will suffer whatever I must to ensure that."

"You keep saying that. Or is it an excuse to get me out of the way."

"Whatever you think of me, and your opinion isn't necessarily out of line, you are in danger. When it comes down to it, Wildersmith will sooner or later discover that he is better off without you, and that I am better off without an heir."

"Not your heir. Why do men assume that I will fold and give over the prospects of my family, my children, as the inevitable conclusion? It seems my opinion on this topic has no bearing whatsoever."

"Because the fact that this child in my heir is inevitable, even if you will deny it with your dying breath. Even if I cannot bestow my estate to my son, he can still claim it. You seem to overlook that it is the boy's best interest to claim the estate. Self-interest does prevail in everything. A mistake you make too often."

He did have a point, once the child became of age, the estate was there to claim without her consent if Malfoy set it up that way. It was a significant risk, though. He would be dead and have no certainty that the child would claim, or would even be prevented to claim. "It could be a girl."

Malfoy smiled and held the glass of claret to his lips. "Then our firstborn is a girl. A son would be better, of course. There is greater chance his petition would be favored if you insist not to make the claim solid and irrefutable. It is an issue we could keep working on."

At times, his arrogance was astounding. He obviously firmly believed that he could simply keep putting children in her belly. An involuntary fission shook down her spine.

"If you have a brood of my children, your objection to our marriage will seem more and more paltry." He smiled. He was toying with her.

"You are much too assured with yourself."

"That you wish to be in my bed? It is where _I_ wish you to be. It is the one thing we seem to do with complete unity."

A blush crept up Hermione's cheeks.


	66. Chapter 66

Chapter _66_

 _Hermione slept and slept. Tiredness still had claim on her body and it wasn't until she there was no immediate threat or issue to deal with that she realized how exhausted she was. The baby moved inside her belly, sometimes waking her. It made her smile._

 _In the space of this guest room, she could let the outside world fade away for a while. There had been too much happening, too much distraction, and she felt guilty because there had been times when she'd forgotten the baby growing in her belly. What a terrible thing to consider. But fundamentally, everything she'd done was to create a better future for her children. At no point did she want them to bow down to some all-powerful ruler who made them dance to his tune. That was worth fighting for, even if it didn't allow her to revel in this pregnancy like she had the first._

 _With a soft hand, she stroked her bump. Considering its father, this child was going to be a handful. These children had to be protected_ —all children had to be protected. It broke her heart to think there were hungry children out there, malnourished for lack of food. How could Voldemort have been so cruel and heartless? She would never understand.

Rising from the bed, she made her way to the window and looked out. The weather was still dark, the relentless clouds like a thick blanket. It would rain later, and she would be warm and safe inside this room. Wood burned in the grate, popping every once in a while. There was enough stored next to the fireplace to keep her warm for two days.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Malfoy appear, walking toward one of the outhouses, probably used to store farm equipment. A man met him, a farm manager if she would guess. Malfoy had been away from his estate for quite a while, and she could imagine there were a million things needing his attention.

Two horses were led out by a groom, and Malfoy and his companion mounted. They were off somewhere to survey or repair, or whatever he was needed for. These were things she should be doing for her own estate, not languishing in a warm room.

With a sigh, Hermione drew away from the window. These felt like stolen moment, as if she didn't have the right to simply be here doing nothing. What she needed to do was actually deal with this situation, with Malfoy. This had to stop. She couldn't afford to hide away at this point. Hopefully, in the future, things would be stable enough, but the whole nation was in crisis. Malfoy was being the selfish one, even if she took some time to enjoy the peace and solitude.

His rooms were right next door, he had said—where he undressed and slept. She had seen him in that state before, when he'd been injured and bedridden—vulnerable. How was it she had learned so much about him, and still knew so little?

Her door wasn't locked when she tested it. He hadn't come along while she'd slept and locked in. Walking down the hall, she tested the next door and it turned under her hand. It seemed he didn't lock his either. For a man of calculation and mystery, he didn't seem to protect his secrets so well when at home.

The door swung open to a large room, decorated in dark colors. It was colder than hers, the fire dying in the grate. The bed was unmade, the white sheets rumpled. A rush of something flowed through her at the thought—him lost in sleep, those ever searching and intense eyes closed.

Looking around, she saw things strewn across a table and a desk. These things all had some meaning or use to him, the artefacts of his life. Was he different here at his estate from what he was at the citadel? She was fairly certain Theo had been. The Theo she had known would not have been like he was at the citadel; he would have been harder, more assertive—maybe even ruthless. She had never seen that part of him.

She shouldn't be here. It was an invasion of privacy, a place she didn't belong. Silently, she slipped out and closed the door, as if the room might note her presence and inform on her. For some reason, she didn't want Malfoy to know about her curiosity about him. She shouldn't be curious about him. He'd just kidnapped her and was keeping her prisoner in his house.

Dressing properly, she went downstairs, exploring the large house. It spoke of long standing traditions. The lack of an heir took on a new quality here, where he wasn't simply Malfoy, but the steward of a long and proud family history.

The thing showed that they had consistently come from wealth. There were no farm hands apart of this family. None of the women in these portraits would ever have had the rough hands she'd had when she'd met Theo Nott. Probably like Draco, the Malfoy's married for advantage, not because they fell in love with some inappropriate girl.

=0=

The sun set and darkness grow outside. Hermione hadn't bothered lighting a candle and the fire cast shadows across the walls. She heard Malfoy arrive home, heard his voice carried on the wind as he conveyed orders.

She heard his footsteps in the hall outside her room, then drew quiet as he retreated into his own room.

Hermione lay on the bed with a book resting beside her. The weight of her belly was now too uncomfortable for lying on her back. These last few months were going to be uncomfortable.

A knock on the door pierced through her room and she pushed herself off the bed, still wearing the only dress in the wardrobe that would accommodate her shape.

He stood leaning on the door frame as she opened, his hair wet. He'd washed quickly, maybe even bathed. "Supper is about to be served." Holding his arm for her, he waited.

She didn't want to take it. "I am still here under protest."

"Duly noted," he said and followed as she walked ahead. As annoyed as she was, she couldn't escape the fact that she was famished. Being pregnant didn't lend itself toward skipping meals, no matter how justified the reason.

In her exploration, she knew where the dining hall was. It was a large room with dark mahogany furniture. A fire kept the room warm, though. Their place settings were on opposite sides of the table, hers placed where the lady of the house should sit. What was he trying to say, she wondered.

Service began the moment they sat down and the first course was presented. Hermione said no to the claret.

"How long are you planning on keeping me here?" she said, looking down the table at him pointedly.

"As long as I must."

"You will, of course, at some point, be held to account for your actions."

"Probably, but you will be alive and so will the child. I will suffer whatever I must to ensure that."

"You keep saying that. Or is it an excuse to get me out of the way."

"Whatever you think of me, and your opinion isn't necessarily out of line, you are in danger. When it comes down to it, Wildersmith will sooner or later discover that he is better off without you, and that I am better off without an heir."

"Not your heir. Why do men assume that I will fold and give over the prospects of my family, my children, as the inevitable conclusion? It seems my opinion on this topic has no bearing whatsoever."

"Because the fact that this child in my heir is inevitable, even if you will deny it with your dying breath. Even if I cannot bestow my estate to my son, he can still claim it. You seem to overlook that it is the boy's best interest to claim the estate. Self-interest does prevail in everything. A mistake you make too often."

He did have a point, once the child became of age, the estate was there to claim without her consent if Malfoy set it up that way. It was a significant risk, though. He would be dead and have no certainty that the child would claim, or would even be prevented to claim. "It could be a girl."

Malfoy smiled and held the glass of claret to his lips. "Then our firstborn is a girl. A son would be better, of course. There is greater chance his petition would be favored if you insist not to make the claim solid and irrefutable. It is an issue we could keep working on."

At times, his arrogance was astounding. He obviously firmly believed that he could simply keep putting children in her belly. An involuntary fission shook down her spine.

"If you have a brood of my children, your objection to our marriage will seem more and more paltry." He smiled. He was toying with her.

"You are much too assured with yourself."

"That you wish to be in my bed? It is where _I_ wish you to be. It is the one thing we seem to do with complete unity."

A blush crept up Hermione's cheeks.


	67. Chapter 67

Chapter _67_

 _They dined on venison and it was delicious. The meal was perfect, the flavors perfectly married. Still, a part of her felt guilt for dining so well when there were people starving. At least she had forced the courtiers to provide the shortfalls._

 _"I can't stay here," she finally said as the meal ended. "There is too much at stake."_

 _"Why is it that you must take responsibility for the benefit of the nation?"_

 _"If not me, then who? I am actually one of the people that Voldemort felt such disdain for. If not for some chance of circumstance, I would be one of them, out there, hungry and reduced to dependency, waiting for bread so I could have something to eat."_

 _Malfoy exhaled and twisted his glass of claret by the stem. "The wheat will be delivered. None of us can afford mass uprisings right now. Wildersmith knows this just as much as you do. You don't need to be there to oversee it. As I said, self-interest always shines through."_

 _He rose and indicated for her to do the same, taking her to the next room, which was a parlor. He poured himself a whiskey from the mirrored tray where the liquor decanters all stood. Hermione sank down on one of the plush sofas, resting along the side of it. Sitting upright in a chair had taken effort._

 _"Still, you can't just simply keep me. I am not yours to keep, and even if I were, I would never agree to be hidden away in the country."_

 _"You used to be."_

 _"That was different."_

 _"Why?"_

 _Hermione didn't actually have a ready answer. "Because I am not the young girl I was. I know too much now. I know the treats, and I will never rely on a man to manage them for me." She looked him in the eye to communicate how serious she was._

 _"Was it not you who once said what a lonely life it must be not trusting anyone? That you would never want to go through life that was."_

 _Hermione smiled and closed her eyes. He was using her words against her. How much had she changed in that time, mere months?_

 _With her eyes still closed, she could feel the weight of him coming down on the sofa. "I think we are very much coming together," he said._

 _"Oh?"_

 _"You are moving toward my position, and I am moving toward yours. We are meeting in the middle."_

 _"Doesn't count if it's just words. How is the emotional development going? Any twinges of guilt for forcing your will on others, putting your own concerns ahead of everyone else's? It is all fine and dandy to say so, but actually doing it is so much harder. Trust is such a big part of it, and let's face it, you don't trust me to tie my own shoelaces."_

 _"Perhaps I am simply not willing to take any risks. Risk-taking is not the same as trust."_

 _"Some things are worth fighting for."_

 _"Yes," he agreed. She hadn't intended on him using her statement against her, but he warped and twisted to suit his purposes. Lightly grabbing her ankle, he brought it to his lap and began to rub. Hermione's eyes swam closed, enjoying this too much to pull her foot away. Her feet ached unbearably and his fingers were so very soothing. Bastard._

 _"I didn't mean kidnapping, lying and cheating."_

 _"How am I cheating?"_

 _"How about the whole: my feelings are softening. I am going to suffer if you don't give me what I want."_

 _"Not so much softening right now," he said. "Perhaps more the opposite." His hand stroked up her ankle, sending shivers of sensation up her body. Moving her foot, she gently, but firmly, pushed his hand back toward him, pinning it to his side._

 _"Do you truly think I would make such an awful king?" There was an earnestness in his voice. Was he toying with her? Was all this part of his strategy?_

 _"If you cannot cajole or manipulate, how about getting what you want by royal edict?"_

 _"There is more to this than just you and me. Besides, if I were king, wouldn't that make you queen." His eyes sparkled with mischief._

 _"I have absolutely no interest in being queen."_

 _"You act like you do."_

 _She raised up on her elbows. "Do you think you could stomach the changes I would make? Wildersmith would baulk, and the rest would follow. I would actually be a liability to you."_

 _"The radical queen. Join with me." He leaned toward her, reaching for her._

 _"No," she said and Malfoy groaned with frustration. "I would be a liability. You know that, don't you?"_

 _"We would temper each other. It is what we do." His lips pressed to hers. It wasn't as if she didn't want it. She ached for the kiss. It was just the broader deal she couldn't deal with. The kiss deepened, his tongue reaching into her mouth. This part was easy, much to easy. At least, right now, there was no devastating consequences. That had already happened. The idea of him siring a whole brood was more disturbing, but it wouldn't be an outcome tonight, and right now she felt selfish._

 _"I'm a terrible person," she panted as his lips traveled lower, teasing the sensitive skin of her neck. She should absolutely not be succumbing to him, this man who was using her for his own objectives, wrapping it up so prettily in join objectives, trusting alliances and even love. Love, the concept he had adamantly said he would never have anything to do with._

 _The gown was so flared, it gave him no resistance at all, although it was tight around her bust, fighting her deep, ragged breaths._

 _His warm hand stroked up her thigh, past her drawers and up along her bump. His head drew lower. "I never thought I would find the pregnant form so sexy, but it is every definition of luscious. I worship every curve." His mouth traveled lower, taking the pearl in her wet folds and mercilessly kneading it. She gasped with the exquisite sensation. He was right. This part they could do in absolute unison._

 _He teased her mercilessly, until she couldn't breath and became enslaved to the culminating pleasure. Powerful surges of pleasure washed over her, drawing her down in the undertow, fruitlessly gasping for air. Bliss flowed through every part of her, both enlivening and sating the hunger she had consistently denied._

 _Tremors of pleasure resonated throughout her body as she shifted to her side. Bad things happened whenever she succumbed to him, but she couldn't help it. That want was there and he played it like a tune._

 _Searching lips found hers and she craned her neck to reach back. The buttons at her back gave as he undid them, giving her frame room to breathe, but also room for his hand to cup her breast. Fire ignited in her again and she pressed into the touch, the merciless fingers that teased the stiff bud to aching hardness._

 _Languid kisses stroked along her shoulder and his hardness pressed into her backside. Arching, she met him and he unhurriedly pressed into her hot, molten core. Surging sensations enslaved her again, claiming every part of her consciousness._

 _"Hermione," he whispered as strong arms held her to him. Strong pulses clenched around him, seeking to draw him in farther, to take more. Her pleasure mounted as he faltered, harsh, ragged groans of pleasure joining his release. Her own release was stronger than the last, the waves extending on and on, washing through her with crashing ferocity._

 _His arms stayed around her as her release calmed, shuttering after quakes wracking both of their bodies. He didn't move to pull away from her, softening inside her, still kissing along the back of her neck._

 _"Stay with me tonight," he whispered, his voice roughened. If she did, she wouldn't sleep that night. Part of her knew she shouldn't, shouldn't have let this unfold at all, but another part wanted a night together. Not some dark and shaded corner, but a night together in a proper bed. Although sated, her body still wanted him._

 _The problem was that if she stayed that night, she would be staying the next as well. It was only sex, but it was compelling. Still, it would never be enough to make her change her mind about protecting her children. Just for a while, though, could she have her cake and eat it too? No doubt, she would have to pay for this at some point. In the end, they were not destined to be together. At least not unless things changed._

 _Hermione turned and faced him, tucking her hands under her head. He looked beautiful like this, flushed and undone._


	68. Chapter 68

Chapter _68_

 _Hermione woke when she felt Draco move. Mild sun was streaming in through the window, showing it was dawn. A week had been spent together in this house. During the day, he would see to the estate, then come home and they would dine. All in all, they spent more time in his bed chamber than anywhere else._

 _But today was different_. She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was a change.

Draco shifted, placing his wrist behind his head. Reaching out, she felt his warmth of him.

"This is over now, isn't it?" she asked. This week had been a reprieve, a step away from responsibility.

"I have to go back."

"I do too."

He shifted to his side, his skin almost glowing in the soft light from the windows. "It isn't safe there for you."

"It isn't safe there for you either. It isn't safe for anyone." Hermione shifted up on her elbow. "And there is too much danger that we fall back into the same old patterns."

"As lovely as your idea of governance without a leader, it's only a dream."

This was an argument they'd had over and over again. All the time, she'd hoped he would come around to her way of thinking. His way was that power was the only thing that kept them safe. The more, the better. He wasn't giving up on his campaign to rule, even if he saw and acknowledged her side of the argument. He just didn't believe in it.

Reaching his hand over to her cheek, he kissed her. Soft lips pressed to hers and she felt the desire that beckoned underneath. For a week, she'd given into that desire, had nurtured and fed it, all the time knowing that their fundamental differences had in no way been resolved.

"Don't leave me here," she pleaded. She didn't plead because she felt powerless; she pleaded because she wanted him to consider her wants.

"When things are sorted, when they'd calmed down, you can come back."

Disappointment bit deep inside her. He wouldn't budge on having his way on this. From his perspective, he wanted her to stay here, give birth to their child and wait for him to return, or call her to him. It was everything he wanted, even perhaps more than securing his throne and putting him in a better position to claim the throne. Her lands would make him more powerful than Wildersmith.

Tabain, however, didn't measure into the equation, although she knew if she pushed the subject, Draco would suggest bringing him here, so she could care for him under his protection.

Draco hadn't compromised on anything he wanted.

As she watched, he rose to dress, pulling in the dark clothes, reverting to the ambitious and ruthless creature of court. A part of her had to wonder if this had all simply been a seduction. He had, after all, placed her exactly in the position he wanted. The tender lovemaking had touched her heart, she had to admit, but she didn't know how much of it was real and how much was artifice.

"You should rest," he said. "I will have them bring up breakfast for you."

"Don't go," she said, rising from the bed.

"I have to. I can't be away longer. There is so much to do."

Shifting closer to her, he kissed her, his clothes cool against her bare skin. They felt like a barrier, but it was more than the clothes. They were moving out of this little bubble of softness and togetherness. The world beyond was intruding, or more correctly, was being invited in.

His warm hand stroked her bump. "Take good care of yourself," he said. "All will be well, you'll see. Just let me fix things."

By fix, he meant defeat Wildersmith, and by stealing her away, he had placed her cards on the table. Even if she'd fought him tooth and nail, the fact that she was here with him, in his manor, meant she was on his team, irrespective of whether she had agreed or not.

In a way, he sought to repeat what she'd had with Theo. She would be here, tending to the children and the estate, while he was off being a courtier. The problem was that she wasn't the same creature anymore, and she didn't want the things that he did. Those differences were being speckled over by his will.

Hermione felt her eyes well up as he walked to the door. He turned and looked at her. What was it he thought he saw—a dutiful wife? What she felt was betrayal. In a way, she couldn't blame him. He was forcing everything to be what he wanted, but it didn't make it so.

Maybe it was here that had gambled, hoping he would change to accommodate her, but he hadn't. Nothing had changed and it hurt.

Moving to the window, she looked down below, seeing the carriage prepared for him. He appeared and climbed inside, looking up at her when the carriage took off. There was only one carriage and he was taking it with him, stranding her here.

It was an imprisonment in silks and warm comfort, but it was still an imprisonment. The bitterness of it hurt. Until a few hours ago, there had still been hope, but those had been for nothing. The means justified the ends in his book, even if the means included seduction and soft whisperings.

How many times had she told him that seduction wasn't enough. Yes, his tender touch had melted her, but it still wasn't enough. She wasn't the kind of person that gave up on her beliefs for her own comfort and benefit—even love. He didn't understand that about her, even if he was exactly the same. Her wanting him to give up his ambitions hadn't made him do it, but he still wasn't willing to give up on having her. He wanted it both.

Looking back, she saw the messy bed they had stayed in. This reprieve was over, the bubble of fruitless hopes dashed. The room smelled of him, reflected his masculinity in its décor. In here, she'd hidden for a while, but it was time to put that selfishness to side.

The problem was that she didn't know exactly what to do. Malfoy was probably right that the danger at court was only escalating. Wildersmith wasn't going to give up, and neither was Malfoy. This baby was also coming. It could distract her completely, probably something Malfoy was banking on.

Dressing, she made her way downstairs. An elderly woman was waiting for her in the dining hall, slim with neatly combed gray hair.

"Hello, my lady," she said. "I am Adele Wishman. The lordship thought it best there be someone here for you, especially as, I understand it, you are coming close to term. I am an accomplished midwife."

Hermione ground her teeth. There was to be a prison warden as well, it seemed. The woman watched as Hermione moved to the breakfast buffet table and also as she returned to the table, apparently noting everything she ate. How was she supposed to eat under these circumstances? She completely lost her appetite.

Rising from her chair with her food untouched, Hermione walked out. "I'm going for a walk."

"I don't think that's advisable in your condition," the woman said sternly. Had Draco realized the woman was a totalitarian dragon. Probably not, Draco did these things softly. The woman would have appeared a very amenable creature in front of him, Hermione was sure. But now, with orders, this woman intended on fulfilling them.

"Do you think so?" Hermione said. "Get my coat," she said sternly to the manservant. This woman had no idea who she was dealing with.

The wind was brisk outside and Hermione walked, ignoring the woman who was strenuously calling her name. Draco didn't really know who he was dealing with either, it seemed. Did he really think she would put up with this? Perhaps spending in week in bed with him had given him a false sense of security. Seduction was never going to temper her. She had told him that on a number of occasions.

Still, it hurt that he had insisted. For a moment, she'd hoped he would come around, to relent. But he hadn't. Now this meant she had to put this behind her, a necessary sacrifice.


	69. Chapter 69

A/ N Sorry short one. This is not the end of the story, by the way.

Chapter _69_

The dragon, as Hermione had learn to call her, had tried to exert her dominance, but Hermione paid her no regard. The woman wouldn't go so far as to wrestle her, so there was little she could do to the woman's impotent rage. No doubt, reports were being written to Malfoy right that moment.

But Malfoy had taken the carriage, and had probably done so purposely. It was the only one there, although there was space in the carriage house for another, which Hermione assumed had been removed.

The stables were also guarded well, not that she could ride in her condition. As stubborn as she was, it wasn't something she could bring herself to even contemplate.

He did underestimate her though, thinking she couldn't imagine what to do without a carriage to take her around. Had he forgotten she was the daughter of a field hand? A farm cart was not hard to find and she stole one full of cabbages. He could petition for the loss of he wanted, but she was going home.

The farm horse trotted down the road and they were off the Malfoy estate before anyone had noticed it gone.

The cart ride wasn't exactly comfortable, but once away from the Malfoy estate, she took things slowly, surveying the land as she went. The people she came across looked downtrodden and beaten. The rebelliousness she had seen in Colmmire didn't seem reflected out here, but who knew what was being whispered between people.

Yes, it was a risk traveling the roads as there was the chance of lawlessness, but she had nothing to take.

Beyond going home, she didn't know what to do. For now, at least until the baby was born, she would have to leave Malfoy and Wildersmith to slog it out. Both were stubborn and unlikely to give in, a champion emerging when one categorically defeated the other. Hopefully, that would not include someone's death. The idea of Malfoy being killed twisted her insides, but there was nothing she could do to combat his ambition.

When she reached the part she knew, she chose to drive down the lesser known roads. It could be that Malfoy's people would be searching for her. The dragon would have let Malfoy know at the earliest opportunity that she had flown the coop.

Would Malfoy be surprised, she wondered. Had he felt she had been subdued, relented to his will? He should know her better than that.

She slept in the cart when she needed to and kept going, sometimes down roads that were so muddy, she was better off driving in the ditch. The cart was sturdy, however, and it held.

The sight of her manor coming into view was the sweetest she had seen in a while. How long had she been trying to get back here? In the end, she'd had to circumvent prison guards and steal away. No doubt both Malfoy and Wildersmith was laying claim to her lands. Well, they could come. She was going to defend her land if she had to. It wasn't the time to be undefended. The old rules couldn't be relied upon.

Both her back and her stomach ached by the time she reached home. Her body was stiff from head to toe. The door opened to the unexpected visitor and Tabain ran out. He'd grown so much. Hermione's eyes welled at all she had missed.

"Mommy," he yelled and raced toward her. She crouched to receive him and his little body flew to her.

"I'm home, my little darling."

"And you brought cabbages," the dowager Lady Nott said questioningly.

"Don't ask," Hermione said.

"You're fat," Tabain said and Hermione chuckled.

"Yes, I am. That's your little brother or sister in there."

Tabain seemed confused. Hermione couldn't stop herself from hugging him again. Sorry, Malfoy, you simply can't compete with these instincts.

"What are we going to do with all this cabbage?" the dowager lady said.

Hermione waved over one of the stableboys. "Tomorrow, why don't you drive the cart over to the Dunstone and leave the cart there and leave all the cabbage in the village square. I am sure they'll find use for it." The boy nodded and then retreated. Dunstone was the nearest village and Hermione was sure they were just as hungry as Colmmire.

Whether the wheat supplement would happen, she didn't know. It wasn't something she could follow up on. Now was a time to focus on family, and unfortunately it extended only to the baby in her belly and not its father. A twinge of regret pierced through her, cloying sadness that gripped her heart. There was nothing she could do about that. It hurt further to simply write him off, but what choice did she have.

"How much further do you have to go?" the dowager asked as Tabain ran ahead, wanting to show her whatever treasures he had accumulated while she was gone.

"About six weeks. Not that the last couple of days helped." It had been a jarring and uncomfortable ride both physically and emotionally, but she was home now.

The dowager looked worried. "Is everything as bad as we've heard? They say the citadel has plunged into chaos. That there might actually be a war."

"Yes," Hermione admitted. There would be. Unless one managed to assassinate the other, it would eventually be an armed contest. Both Malfoy and Wildersmith would be gathering their men. She snorted. Maybe the fact that both Malfoy and Wildersmith though they were using her afforded her some protection in the short term. "We must prepare defenses."

It wasn't what the dowager wished to hear, but it was true. It was time to batten down the hatchets—the storm was building. A peaceful transition was now out of the question and everyone would be asked to take sides. Eventually she would be required to choose sides too, determine which side to fight on. Sadly, her proposal of ruling by committee, by a council, was falling to the wayside for these mens' ambitions. The whole nation would suffer for it.


	70. Chapter 70

Chapter 70

Arriving at the citadel, Draco didn't know what to expect. Anything could have happened in his absence, but on the surface, the citadel hid well the troubles inside.

The courtyard was absent and there was still no sign that anything was untoward. It took a moment for one of his stable boys to arrive to take his horse. He wasn't expected.

"All is well here, I suppose?" Draco said, eager enough for news that he would ask the stable boy.

"Seems so," the boy said. Well, it would be quiet from his position. Whatever dramatics were going on inside was not reaching.

"Have people been fleeing?"

"They were, but less now."

That was encouraging, Draco supposed and he took himself into the building a climbed until he reached his apartments, which were cold and still. Everything looked undisturbed. There were no signs of interference.

"My Lord," Mr. Duthie said. "You return."

"Yes," Draco said and took to his study. A number of missives and letters were stacked on his desk, and he opened all, seeing questions and requests for direction from his allies and broader groups. Everyone wanted to talk it seemed. The question was what Wildersmith had been up to in his absence.

It had only been a few days, but Wildersmith might have acted upon it, whispering in people's ears. It was the worst possible time to be away, but he had to get Hermione out of the citadel. Even if she didn't acknowledge it, she was a target and a natural means to subdue him. Hold her hostage and his choices would be very limited—and everyone knew it.

For a moment, his thoughts drifted back to the few days they had together. They felt like stolen days—they were stolen days. Now he had to establish a world where they would be safe.

If a diplomatic solution was still possible, he wasn't sure. If things devolved, it would be war, but he wasn't quite ready to accept a peaceful transition just yet. It all now depended on the lords and ladies of court, on which sides they picked. Their choices were important, and if they chose wrongly, it would be war, and everyone would be dragged into it.

Another important reason for pulling Hermione away from the citadel was to get her out of Wildersmith's reach, because their alliance still gave him some sway. Loyalty was part of who she was, and the alliance with Wildersmith counted. It was such a nuisance now, but Draco had to admit that he was the cause of it in the first place. If he had known how everything would have gone, he would have played things differently, but who would have foreseen Voldemort's murder. The man had seemed to impervious to any assassination attempts. No one was impervious, and he had to guard himself against it.

If anyone knew the gossip of the court, it would be Pansy. She might be a good place to start. Grabbing a sheet of parchment, he wrote her a letter inviting her to dine with him. It was short notice, but he suspected Pansy was too curious to pass, even if she had plans elsewhere.

-0-

As expected, Pansy accepted the invitation and his dining room was lit up with candles.

"You return," she said as she floated into the room. "We were worried that you left us to it."

"Of course not. I just had to see to some things."

"Ah, she must be close to term now," Pansy said, watching him intently as she sat down, looking for emotion or some inner turmoil. What sign was it she wanted to see, he wondered? On the surface, Pansy was loyal, at least when explicitly told to be, but underneath, he never quite knew what her game was. He had her support in his bid for the crown, but perhaps not in his relationship with Hermione.

It didn't matter. Pansy would have to bearing. "Yes," he finally replied.

"You are to be a father."

In all that had happened, the quiet fact was still hard to contemplate. After so many years, he was to have his heir. But he was also to have a son, and fundamentally, he didn't know that that meant. The guidance of his own father might not be much use. It had made him strong, but he wasn't sure to what degree he would repeat that. He also knew that Hermione would put her foot down. Hermione would make the boy soft, to protect his childhood and his naivety. But the boy needed to be hard. "Yes."

"Hopefully there will be wedding bells in your future."

Draco didn't answer. There was too much to sort. Then there would be a wedding, a spectacular one. But even he knew it was not something he could push on Hermione. She needed convincing, but there was too much at peril just at the moment. Once everything was settled, he could fully turn his attention to her. "The needs of the present are too pressing for such things. What has Wildersmith been up to in my absence."

"Well, he is trying to charm everyone. He's taken your absence as a sign of defeat, and has been speaking about his own coronation."

"Then my return will be a bit of a spanner in the works."

"A bit. We will have to see how much loyalty he garners. The grandiose nature of his plans work against him. He is quite struggling to contain himself."

"No news of whoever murdered Fudge?"

"No, nothing. Alicia is expectedly beside herself. Doesn't leave her apartments."

"She should leave and return to her lands."

"Yes, I agree."

"I take it we can count on her support."

"I believe so. I would perhaps be beneficial for her to hear your condolences. As expected Wildersmtih has been around to do so, but Alicia is keeping her thoughts very close to her chest. Someone murdered her husband, and she is a little wary."

"I will call on her," Draco said. Wildersmith was behind this in some way, or someone loyal to him and it was about scaring Lucas Bridgetonne away from possible defection. It was a risky manoeuvre, that either worked or did the exact opposite and pushed Bridgetonne away. Draco would have to speak to Bridgetonne as well, but it had to be subtle so the man didn't suffer the wrath of Wildersmith, or perhaps it was better to rally the man's wrath, pushing Bridgetonne away for good.

The question was how gladly Wildersmith was to murder his way to the throne.

They had to defeat the man or they would have another age of tyranny ahead of them. If Wildersmith was murderously inclined, then he would make sure his rival did not survive to cause problems.

"Will there be a war?" Pansy asked, cutting into the tender beef they had been served.

"I suspect so. It is a matter of whose side will be victorious. Choices now will have an impact for a very long time."

"I think we need a good survey of sentiment," Pansy said, distracted by her own thoughts.

"Yes, I am sure your ladies can help with that."

"I'm sure they can."

"If there is a war, we shall need men," she continued."

"We shall also need the guard on our side. Whoever chooses the guard stays in the citadel. It is perhaps the most crucial point." The guard will have to choose a side, but they would do so unwillingly at first, but they suffered most by a tyrannical ruler. Draco would just have to convey that he was a better option. That shouldn't be too difficult.

Supper finished and Pansy took her leave. They would meet again the next day. This was a campaign and he needed to be meticulous, using everything at his disposal. Land meant people, and people meant soldiers. Whatever army he needed to build, it had to be bigger.

A courier arrived with a missive, by the look of him having ridden hard. The man could barely breathe and Draco felt a chill creeping up his spine. He knew this was from his estate even before he opened it.

 _She had fled the estate. I have send men to retrieve her, but they had not returned with her._

 _Regards,_

 _Miss Wishart_

Draco closed his eyes and bitter disappointment well up inside him. She had fled, had rejected the protection he offered her. Why did she always have to fight him on everything? She was safe at Malfoy Manor. Why did she refuse to see that? Nothing about this was ideal. They both knew that, but times were dire and compromises had to be made.

That was the problem with her; she refused to compromise on anything. There was also rejection in her actions and it hurt. She vied between utter rejection and the sweetest surrender. It drove him insane. She both wanted him and not at the same time, refusing to acknowledge her own inconsistencies. What was he to do with her?

Things here were too pressing for him to leave again. The entirely future was at stake, and he needed to create a place for them.

With her unbending ideals, she didn't see that they were both finished if he didn't win this quest for the throne. This had to be done.

For now, he would post guards along the edges of her property to ensure no one attacked her. It would stretch his resources, but she refused to make things easy for him.

Gathering the other lords and their soldiers was imperative, and he would focus on her neighboring properties, the ones that would be most likely to take her and her land.

Crunching the missive in his hand, he threw it in the fire. She wasn't going to cooperate in this, but as long as she stayed at the Nott estate, he would do his best to keep her safe. Her lack of support would, however, make things more difficult. It would also give Wildersmith a claim that she was still a part of his alliance.


	71. Chapter 71

Chapter 71

It was good to be home for the birth. It had gone as well as could be expected and Hermione daughter was born. She named her Charis and she was the most beautiful baby she had ever seen.

Hermione sighed as the tiny girl slept in her cot. Long lashes and a tiny rose bud mouth. It truly was love at first sight. Everything she had gone through, had fought for was worth it.

Charis was a girl and that made a difference. Malfoy had been so adamant it would be a boy, but it wasn't. There were things he simply couldn't force to be the way he wanted them to be.

A male heir was preferred. Daughters were more troublesome and had more problems defending themselves. If she were the only child Malfoy had, she would be his heir, but there was nothing to say he would not father another child. He was young and eventually he would marry. But it wouldn't be to her.

Stepping away from the cot, she looked out the window across her land. Things had gone so very sideways. In truth, Hermione didn't really know if she was coming or going at the moment. What she knew was her children and they were everything.

Outside, things seemed peaceful. It was a wet and grey day, although not bitterly cold. The calm scenery before her didn't reflect the chaos in the world outside. Court was fracturing and relentlessly sliding toward war. The calming influences were being quelled or were fleeing. She was one of those calming influences, but right now, she needed to focus on her baby.

Tabain burst into the room and quietly walked over to the cot. He didn't quite understand who this creature was yet, but he was curious.

"Shh," Hermione said with her finger to her lips. "She's sleeping."

Crawling up on the bed, Tabain pretended to be asleep. How innocent they were. They were all innocent when they were small. How did everything go so very wrong as people grew up?

Sitting down, Hermione stroked the hair off his brow as he pretended, fully expecting her to believe he was asleep.

"Oh, how I wish I had someone to go on a walk with," she said wistfully and his eyes flew open.

"Me," he said adamantly.

"Oh, look. You're awake. Well, we can go for a walk then."

In need to stretch her legs, she pulled on a coat over her loose shift and slid her feet into boots. Her body was too sore and wary to dress properly, but no one would care if she walked around her garden looking less than pristine.

"Watch her," Hermione asked Marie as she reached the landing of the house. "I will stretch my legs for a bit."

Tabain's hand in hers, she walked through the house and out the front door into the fresh, cool air outside. Rain threatened and it would rain for days, but for right now, they could spend a little time in the garden.

"You're a big brother now," she said to Tabain walked along her. "That's a big responsibility. You'll be a wonderful big brother; I know it. And you will always have each other."

Being alone was perhaps the worst way to live. For her it was necessary. For Malfoy… partly it was a means to an end, but there was a part of him that sought intimacy. The problem was that he would only accept it on his terms.

Leaving him still twisted her heart, but she had to do it. He would know by now. Was he angry? Was he hurt? Or was he simply annoyed? Perhaps what she feared the most was being beholden to a man, in love with a man, who used the love to suit his own agenda. He would be one who would use love as a means to control someone—to control her.

His lack of compromise hurt deeply, but what also hurt is how everyone else at court had behaved. They had been too self-centered to do what needed to be done. Because of it, they were heralding a new age of pain and suffering, both through inviting war and also by setting themselves up as another despot—ready to rule with an iron fist.

Everything she'd worked so hard for to make things better had been trampled on in these mens' ambition. They were stupid and short-sighted—greedy, in fact.

Now she told herself that she didn't care. She would barricade herself here and they could tear themselves apart outside. They would tear the world apart too.

Her resources were too big for either of them to attack her. It would mean dividing their resources and exposing themselves to their enemy if they went for her. A divided army never won. It compromised their strength and invited defeat. So she was safe. Maybe she would be the only one standing when they were done.

That was hopeful thinking more than practical. One of them would win, and there would be trouble for her either way. Not trouble she couldn't deal with, but it would herald years of tumultuous dealing with the new court.

So many people would suffer in the process. People were starving and neither Malfoy or Wildersmith had the focus to deal with it.

Diligently, she sent grain to both Dunstone and Colmmire. Hopefully, it helped with the worst of the hunger. If Malfoy did as well, as he had promised, she wasn't sure. In a way, she didn't want to know—wanted to stick her hand in the sand and focus only on her estate and the calm environment there.

She had tried everything in her power to make things better, but she'd failed. It wasn't her fault people were suffering. What else could she do when she had done her best and it hadn't achieved anything? Now all she could do was focus on her and hers, but as much as she wanted to, it was cowardly to ignore the suffering around her.

The people at court were not going to solve this. They were the problem, not the solution, but there wasn't a solution anywhere else either. The obvious thing to do would be to endorse one of the candidates and end this war as quickly as possible. Malfoy would be the natural choice. As difficult as he was, and for the fact that his personal ambition ran roughshod over her desires, he was motivated to keep Charis safe. Tabain had always been the issue.

The alternative was to wait until Malfoy and Wildersmith exhausted themselves. There was danger in that strategy, because secretly, they both feared her wanting to take the role as ruler. All her own ambition for this land did promote the option. If she were ruler, she could have things as she wanted. People would eat, they would share in the fruits of their labor. She could make it so, and it would suit her to have the strongest opposers weak after duking it out between themselves until they were both utterly depleted.

Taking the throne did make sense for her, and both Malfoy and Wildersmith knew it. She would still be a despot, but a kind one. Well, kind to some. The privileged purebloods would not have the luxuries and preferential treatment they had now. That would cause problems and it would end up being her against the court, unless she compromised and kept their privileges in place—which she wasn't sure she could stomach. In the end, she would have to turn into a true despot to keep the order she wanted.

This wasn't her responsibility. It the world ran itself aground, it wasn't her problem to fix. Why couldn't she just focus on her and hers and leave them to wreck themselves.

"What is the world going to come to?" she asked as she crouched down next to Tabain, who was much more interested in the garden than her musings on the destiny of the land. "I'm afraid you will inherit a wreck of a world."

They really did need to do better. This wasn't good enough. As much as she wanted to put her head in the sand and ignore it all, she would struggle to. For now, though, she had a newborn to focus on. It was not the time to focus on lofty things like who and how this land was ruled.

"Flower," Tabain said, picking up a soggy mass of red leaves.

"It and me both," she said, picking up the mass that had crumpled in the wet weather. Birth was hard. It was both physically and emotionally taxing. This was not the time to worry about the land, even if others seemed too preoccupied to do so. "The flowers will bloom again," she told him. "Sometimes they have to lie dormant for a while and recuperate."

"Dead," Tabain said.

"Yes." It was a concept she hadn't been aware he understood. Maybe he didn't.

Letting the mass go, she took his hand again and they walked further along the garden. It was hard to think people would die in the storm that was to come, but it was inevitable, wasn't it? Someone had already tied. Fudge had died—been thrown from his balcony. This wasn't a game. People were going to get hurt.


	72. Chapter 72

Chapter 72

In the absence of Voldemort, people have started gathering in the evenings in the mirrored ballroom. It wasn't perhaps unexpected that people found some means of gathering. Being out of touch could be deadly at a time like this, so the evening gathering seems to have become the norm.

Two guardsmen stood at the door to the ballroom and opened it at his arrival. "Lord Draco Malfoy," one of the servants announced and a quiet descended on the room as he stepped inside. It seemed Wildersmith hadn't gone so far as to install him on a throne.

Some were pleased to see him, others wary. As before, people were dressed in their finery, but the planning Voldemort put into the evenings were absent. The food was scarce, the lighting not quite as bright. Yet, they had gathered roughly in the same way they had while directed by Voldemort's iron hand. Perhaps because they didn't know what else to do.

"My Lord," Pansy said, approaching in a red velvet dress, to take his arm and walk with him. On the surface, everything was as normal, as expected, but it was only superficial. War was in the making. It would be the only way to resolve the contest for the throne. This was simply the last phase of apparent normalcy, where everyone was expected to pick sides.

Beneath the beautiful dresses and sparkling jewelry, this was a dangerous place. There was no one in control now and the untouched food showed how concerned people were. There was no trust.

Fewer families were present now than before. Many had fled and they were right to, but they were acquiescing their power in this contest by doing so. In this room were left the people who had ambition and now sought to align themselves with the winning side.

"You return," Dougal Churing said as they reached a nearby group. "We were starting to wonder."

"I had to see to some things on my estate," Malfoy replied coolly.

"I dare say Wildersmith was hoping you wouldn't," one of the other men said.

"Then he will be disappointed."

"Lady Nott is not returning, we note," Churing said, watching him intently.

"She is otherwise indisposed."

"I understand congratulations are in order."

Draco refused to react. He had heard nothing specific about a birth, but he wouldn't expect they would at court either, unless Hermione was still in touch with Wildersmith. It was something he wouldn't have expected, but perhaps he underestimated the strength of their alliance. Nothing about her actions prior suggested she would comply with it as she had refused to throw her strength behind Wildersmith's ambitions for the throne.

For now, he didn't want to think about her or the baby. In a way, her desertion did feel like a defection. He just didn't know to which degree.

"You should come to lunch tomorrow?" Draco suggested and the smile fell from Churing's face. The man knew exactly what Draco would demand at that lunch—loyalty and resources. Churing was one of the minor landowners, but his land was in a strategic spot.

"Of course," Churing said tightly. Rosenbaum was who Draco really needed. He was Wildersmith's strongest ally and was a defection that might just destabilize Wildersmith's whole network.

Imperative was also to see Captain Burgess. Draco would propose an alliance. At the very least, he would discover how Burgess was positioning the guard in this upcoming fight. No doubt, Wildersmith had been whispering in the man's ear since the moment Draco left.

Draco told Churing a time to be there and he and Pansy moved on. "From what I understand, Merrywood is actively going around and recruiting the smaller houses. Nigel Coxcomb less so, but he is still visible. The problem you have is that you do have old enemies and old grudges that are coming back to haunt you."

"Hardly," Draco said.

"Like the Curstjoys, who are still bristling from being arm-wrestled out of their deeds."

"Well, they need to fear displeasing me more."

Pansy chuckled. "I suspect you will have to be tough to keep some of them in line."

Hermione's various accusations bounced around his head, but she was being overly idealistic. It took control to take power, and then keep power. This group was not going to rule by consensus, no matter what she hoped. They weren't like her. He wasn't like her, and he was going to have to use strength to take the throne. Once that was done, then they could focus on programmes that helped the most impoverished in the land.

In fact, maybe he should meet with Terry Boot too, to hear what state the lands are in. Some level of subsistence had to be assured—especially if this war was going to last. That question was still to be answered as people picked sides.

So many were trying not to align themselves with one side or another, trying to keep neutral. That wasn't going to work. Everyone had to make a gamble and would win or lose in the process.

But the real work wasn't being done in the ballroom. No one here spoke with truth in their words. This was all for show.

-0-

A note to Terry Boot demanded his presence and the man arrived at Draco's apartment doors, looking haggard and drawn exactly when expected.

"My lord," he said with a bow, almost as if was addressing the new liege. Was that because he thought Draco would win, or was he hedging his bets. "It is a pleasure to herald your return."

"Sit," Draco said, indicating to the chair across from his study. "What news is there?"

"News?" Terry asked in his typical high voice.

"Is the land falling apart?" Draco kept staring at him until the man relented.

"The guard is controlling any rioting," Terry finally stated. "Labor has been forced to return to crown lands."

"Forced?"

"The coffers are not being stretched to pay them. It is a temporary measure—a necessary one."

"So we have slave labor ensuring the food supply remains?"

"In essence, yes. The guard is also managing the main roads. Crime is rife. Crime is rife here. We've had close to a dozen murders. All are traveling with their own armed guards. Some are even speculating that assassins have been brought into the citadel."

"It wouldn't surprise me." Years of grudges found their way to the surface now. No one was investigating and it was the perfect time to get rid of someone who irked them or had done them some harm in the past.

"Most of the staff at the citadel have fled. Again, the guard is manning the entrances."

Things were getting more dire. As before, it was true now that as soon as they completed this contest, the better. So far, the guard was what was keeping everything afloat. When the war started in earnest, things could change very quickly.

"What of magic?"

"Magic?" Terry asked with surprise.

"Who is practicing magic?"

"Well, the last magician that Voldemort appointed was beheaded not so long ago. I am sure you recall."

"No one since."

"Not that I know of." Magic would be a powerful tool in the war, but Voldemort had done a good job to exterminate it out of their society. Knowledge was tightly controlled and only a few were admitted into the knowledge—people who Voldemort thought he'd controlled. How wrong he had been. It was almost amusing that Voldemort had been killed by the man he felt he had the most control over. In some ways, Voldemort hadn't understood human nature in the least. Fear was the only thing he understood, and he felt it spread over everything and everyone. But fear was not enough. It had its limits.

Draco would be a better king. Although he had always been ruthless in his dealings within this court, he did understand the idealistic ambitions of Hermione. Unfortunately, most of it was idealistic, but there was room for improvement within the system. Voldemort had been too fond of cruelty, and Draco prided himself on the fact that his actions had always been based by necessity rather than some enjoyment in the suffering of others.

Another imperative was becoming clear to him. He needed to get magic on his side, and not on his enemy's. The problem was that the practitioners had been decimated. It was an art that took years to develope and learn. There had to be others, people who hid out of sight. There might be practitioners hidden within families, amongst the older generations from before Voldemort started removing magic from their society.

Most urgently, he needed to know if Wildersmith or his allies had any such people at their disposal. For that, he needed to know about those members of their families who tended to stay at their respective estates.

There was so much that needed doing, pressure points that had to be used. Men and resources—weapons also needed to be gathered. The stage of war hadn't been set. The citadel would not be a place for charging cavalry, but where else would the war be fought. Obviously, it was a question he wanted to guide toward an answer. Where did he want to fight? Somewhere where he would have an obvious advantage. Not his estate, because war ravaged the land. Wildersmith would be too wise to subject his own lands, so someone else's estate would serve as the stage of war.


	73. Chapter 73

Chapter 73

Charis thrived, feeling well and growing. For a time, things were hard with Charis waking and feeding, sleep never quite enough. But Charis was a lovely baby, feeling settled when things were quiet. Considering the amount of stress Hermione had been through during her pregnancy, it was perhaps not surprising that Charis preferred stillness.

For a while, she was submerged in the children's world, made up of needs and exploration. Tabain took pride in being the oldest child, and in the responsibility that came with it. Charis started coming for walks with them, curious about the brighter light outside.

Everything on the estate was still and calm, belying whatever chaos existed outside. News was sparse, but then few people came and went from the estate other than the carts delivering grain to the villages. The driver said the deliveries were awaited.

As for whatever went on at court, Hermione heard very little. She had no spies and refused to send any. In a way, she didn't want to know what went on there, but she ordered her own men trained and armed. It seemed everyone was aware they needed to choose sides, and the people around here trusted her. That trust was an honor and Hermione had moments when she wondered if that trust was misplaced.

Every way she turned things over, she couldn't escape there being a war—and everyone would suffer. Hunger and disease would be the inevitable result. All for a future most of the people around here didn't want.

In a way, Hermione stayed away as a protest. All her urging for the people who had the means and the power to be reasonable had fallen on deaf ears and she was bitterly disappointed. They cared more about themselves than this land. Even Draco, who in the end refused to let go of his ambition. It always came first with him, before his own daughter.

If he knew of her birth, she didn't know. It did perhaps befall on her to inform him. He had a right to know, even if he didn't deserve to.

Poor little creature, stuck between ambitious and disagreeing parents. It was likely a tension that would stay with her for the rest of her life. Or perhaps not. Draco might find some wife, someone beneficial to his interests and less troublesome to breed him sons.

There were times she just wanted to stick her head in the sand and just forget all the trouble outside. It wasn't hard to do when she lay on her bed and played with her daughter's tiny fingers and toes, Tabain running around the room, playing with his small wooden horses. Knights and horses, children's toys signifying a much darker reality.

Dowager Lady Nott appeared at the door. "Such a lovely sight," she said with a smile. "How fares the little one?"

"Well," Hermione said, looking down at the small face of her daughter, who had slipped off into sleep.

"Mr. Henry returned," the dowager said.

"Who?"

"The driver of the grain cart. Unfortunately, he reports that he was robbed of his load on the way."

Hermione sighed. This only went to show what need was out there. Plus, Dunstone would not receive their grain. "I suppose we will have to start sending arm men with the shipments."

"How much of our grain are we going to give away? Why does it fall to us to perform this service?"

"Because no one else will."

"It is generous, of course, but in the short term, we are weakening our own position."

"These are extraordinary circumstances and if we do not care for the people who need the grain, then there will be no one to buy the grain in the future."

"We don't have the means to solve all the problems of the world," the lady said. "How long are we going to sacrifice ourselves?"

On a level, Hermione knew that the dowager was right. She couldn't singlehandedly support the whole land and make up for the shortfall that the people at court were creating. Stretching to make up for their foolishness was only hurting her in a way, but it was hunger they were speaking off. A bad system needed to break for things to change, but it was hard to stand by and let things break when so many suffered for it. But was she simply prolonging the suffering to avoid an inescapable future. At some point, she would run out of grain. Each week, her stores were lessening. Then what?

Then they would have what she was effectively putting off. Starvation and uprising. The guard would respond and people would get hurt.

There was no end in sight, no light at the end of the tunnel. Malfoy and Wildersmith would still fight until one conceded.

In the end, she was only responsible for herself, and she wasn't sure her charity was making anything better in the long term. And her children would suffer if she bankrupted the estate. Malfoy or Wildersmith would quite happily move in and take over.

It was a miserable situation she was in, but how could she bring herself to stop the grain carts?

With a sigh, she stroked the soft cheek of her child. Other mothers, hungry mothers, were doing the very same thing. This was an untenable situation.

"What am I supposed to do?" she said with anguish, more to herself than anyone else.

The dowager lady shifted as she stood. "We are all caught in this. None of it is your responsibility."

Anger reared inside Hermione. "We are all responsible. Being of the ruling class, we cannot abdicate our responsibility just because things are hard." It was an accusation she paid at the feet of everyone at the court. "We are responsible. All of us."

But her charity was allowing the irresponsibility of others, and she needed to stop. It was the wrong thing to do, but she couldn't entirely answer what the right thing to do was either. The people needed to find a means to force the people at the citadel to deal with them. A representative needed to be sent to demand attention was paid to the logistics of what was needed. All the things she had urged the council to do. They had to be forced to listen and to act.

Even as she said it, she knew she was being overly optimistic. Wildersmith and Malfoy were distracted with their own ambition, and no one else at court seemed concerned that the people were starving, so what recourse did they have?

They had to find some pain point to press until they got attention. They had to speak as one voice, but they had been so controlled and repressed that all their strong voices had disappeared.

"I think I must make another trip to Colmire," Hermione finally said.

"It is dangerous to travel in these times."

"I will take an escort."

She also needed to write a letter to Malfoy, but compared to the needs of the people, that was a small, but also uncomfortable matter to deal with. With both, she wasn't sure what her responsibility was.

"You will stop the grain shipments?" the dowager asked.

It took a moment for Hermione to answer the question. "I think I must speak to the people about alternatives. We need to get the court to listen to what the people need."

The problem was that no one wanted to listen and if they insisted, the guard would respond with force. There was little recourse for the people in the villages. They didn't have the power to demand. Instead, they needed to appeal to the ruling class to be reasonable and responsible.

Perhaps that was her role, to force Wildersmith and Draco to cooperate in this manner. Her mistake had been that she included the whole of court. To do this, she would have to return to court, but first, she needed to establish was the villagers needed. Her focus had been on Colmire and Dunstone, but there were also other villages, and she had no idea how they were faring.

At this point, she wasn't sure if anyone knew. What Terry Boot was up to, she had no idea. Was he still gathering information, or had he stopped? This was another reason to return to court. Perhaps she would have to do the job of a ruler while the ambitious fought over the right to. With the guard on her side, she could muster enough power to force action.

Looking down on her daughter, she knew she had to leave. Her work was not done. As before, she couldn't ignore the world and simply be here. Too many would suffer. Yet again, she had to sacrifice in order to protect her children and the world they existed in. With Theo's death, these hard things now fell to her, and she hated it.

Would he have made the same decisions as her? She hoped so, but she didn't know. Surely, he would not have been ambitious enough to seek to be ruler himself? He wouldn't have married her if his ambition had run so deep. Other things had been important to him—their love for one. A scarce treasure in this world.


	74. Chapter 74

Chapter 74

The quiet and large eyes in pale faces told Draco something had happened. What disturbed him more was that he hadn't found out about it before now. The lines of communications had been destroyed and it was something he needed to re-establish if he was going to win this war. His spies were all off surveying his enemies' estates, seeing that men and resources they were gathering for this war. The picture of Wildersmith's capabilities was being filled in every day.

But this, whatever the people here were worried about had not reached his ears and that was an oversight he needed to address. He needed to know these things before they happened.

Pansy approached him, her skirts swaying. With all that has happened, she still made an effort with her appearance, conveying power with silks and jewels. Perhaps because she didn't know what else to do.

"Rosenbaum got himself murdered," she said.

Draco didn't respond, not wanting to display that this was news to him. As much as Pansy was an ally, he couldn't entirely trust her. Weakness could not be shown to anyone. It was a mantra so ingrained, he wasn't sure he would ever be able to shake it. Trust no one. "So I understand."

Searching eyes surveyed him. More than a few suspected he had done it. A bit too underhanded for his tastes. No, his course was set. There was to be war. Saying that, Rosenbaum was one of Wildersmith's most ardent supporters, and all the work Draco had done to win him over had been for nought.

Question was. Did he want these people to think he had murdered Rosenbaum? Would it serve his interests that these people feared him? Would it show strength? Not that he would claim something he didn't do, but he might not spend much effort correcting any misconceptions.

"The court is becoming a dangerous place," Pansy said, "if we cannot trust our own safety walking down the corridors around here."

"Nowhere is safe at the moment. You need to have guards with you at all times. It is not only the throne at play here, but any grudge anyone has accumulated. There is no discouragement to anyone pushing their agenda in terms of removing enemies."

Pansy shuddered and looked around the room with renewed suspicion. "More people are leaving," she said.

"So they should. Perhaps you should consider retreating to your estate."

"Are we really any safer there?"

"It will be easier to see your enemies coming."

"Perhaps the citadel will become a ghost town where no one trusts themselves to be."

"It is likely."

Wildersmith appeared, a silk waistcoat stretched over his protruding belly. In terms of strength and litheness, he did not appear a great enemy, but true strength in this contest was not related to personal prowess. The army he was accumulating was sizeable. Rosenbaum's death would throw some questions into consistency.

If someone on his side did this without his knowledge, Draco was going to be very angry. Unilateral decisions by his allies could not be tolerated right now. Rosenbaum's murder had implications that were indeterminable just now. On the surface, it seemed a good thing, but it wasn't if Rosenbaum had eventually chosen to defect. One means of influencing the outcome of this contest was now lost.

"You've always been envious," someone accused across the room. "Your whole life, you have coveted what I have. Don't deny it."

"As if I would be envious of you. Have you lost your mind?" the receiving party countered.

"If you come anywhere me or mine, I will kill you."

And that was how easily things deteriorated. This war had to commence or there would be no court left to rule. This war had to start. The time for preparation was over. Besides, the disruption that Rosenbaum's death will cause will only be to Draco's benefit.

"I think it is time to leave these gatherings behind," Draco said and Pansy turned back to him. "It is time for this war to start."

"Have you spoken to the captain of the guard?" she asked.

"Yes, he insists on being non-committal."

"That is a disappointment. I suppose they must submit to whoever wins in battle."

"He said something to that effect. They are willing to accept the victor as the next ruler, which is something." The guard would be a pain and a big problem if they did not accept the outcome of this contest, so perhaps it would be prudent to not push them. Besides, they were utterly distracted by quelling revolts around the land, which was necessary through this period.

It was time to send Wildersmith an invitation to meet. It was time to declare war, and it was a task that didn't need an audience.

"You should return to your apartments this evening, and I urge you to return to your estate."

"I am capable of protecting myself," Pansy said tartly. "People have a habit of underestimating me."

With a tight smile, Draco realized that she was armed as they spoke. No, perhaps he ought to not underestimate her. She was a creature of this court, a creature of politics and intrigue. Hopefully this war would never reach her and her skills would be enough to protect her.

With a nod, Draco turned his back and left. There was nothing to be gained in these ballrooms now. Anyone who had refused to voice their allegiance now would have to do so in a hurry or proceed without allegiance. It would be a choice Draco would remember once victory was his. One such dissenter sat like an aching discrepancy in his mind. It hurt him that Hermione had not sided with him and continues to defy him. Their alliance was logical in every way, but yet she thwarts him with her silence and her absence. The absence he could understand, but her silence, her rejection of his protection burned.

Returning to his apartments, he wrote a note and asked for it to be delivered to Wildersmith. Again, he looked over the plans for battle he had made, the battalions that would be under his direction and the officers that would lead them. Everything had carefully been considered, including the movement of troops and supplies. The only thing left to decide was where the battle was to be.

There was something to be said for having it on land he knew, but the devastation was not something he wanted to bring to his own estates. Wildersmith would probably feel the same. So who would bear the burden of this battle? The Nott estate came into mind. It would serve her right for refusing to engage. Still, he refused to answer the question. He didn't want to be the one to decide that her estate would be the scene of war.

-0-

Early in the morning, Draco stood at the edge of the courtyard he had chosen as the meeting place. The wind buffeted over the ledge that overlooked the valley beyond the citadel. Iciness bit with the wind, stinging the skin of his face. It was warmer than it had been, but this courtyard was high, picking up the wind that came over the mountains in the distance.

A noise behind him told him that others had joined them. Turning he saw Wildersmith, standing with his men. Either did Draco trust his enemy enough to come entirely alone.

"The time has come," Draco said as Wildersmith approached him.

"Seems Lady Nott hasn't come to the party," Wildersmith said with an annoyingly pleased countenance.

"She has children to care for, including my heir." Actually, having the battle on the Nott estate might not be something he could support.

"Weakens you," Wildersmith continued.

"Do you think so? You will have to find out the hard way."

"It would be a pleasure. I think it is time to end this uncertainty."

It would be nice to think that Wildersmith would adhere to the outcomes of this battle, but Draco knew better than to think one battle would solve things. It would simply be a measure of strength. There would be more than one battle and it would be the war that needed to be won.

"So where do we do this?" Draco asked.

"Why not here?" Wildersmith said, indicating to the valley below.

It was neutral ground. A fight by the very throne itself. "Fine," Draco agreed. "One week and we meet at dawn."

"So melodramatic," Wildersmith complained, "but you always were."

Draco felt the tug of annoyance, while at the same time, he knew full well that Wildersmith was having a parting shot at him. "Save your insults for the battlefield. You are going to need them."


	75. Chapter 75

Chapter 75

It wasn't far past dawn when Hermione set off for Colmire, accompanied by an armed guard. From what the driver of her grain shipments said, having an armed escort was absolutely essential, and not even that guaranteed your safety.

This dire warning did have her nervous, but it would take a full-scale revolt to subdue her guard. From inside her carriage, she watched as the landscape slowly passed by. Nothing looked untoward, but then she hadn't really seen much away from her own lands.

At one point, further along down the road, two of the citadel guards passed her at speed, riding their horses as if they were in the utmost hurry. Seeing the guard on the road gave her some semblance of comfort. It couldn't be complete chaos if the guard were still out and about.

It was a long ride to Colmire and Hermione had spent too much time alone with her own thoughts, a place she didn't want to be right now, as there were too many worries, hurts and concerns that pressed on her heart.

The village was still there. She could see it from a distance, and they slowly crept closer. The grain carriage trundled behind her, and she had the heavy task of telling them that she had to reduce the amount she shipped, quite dramatically.

Instead, she would promise to make a case to the crown to ensure the village had sufficient grain coming. It may well be that she had to go to court to do so, to make such a nuisance of herself that the administration which still ran things in a liege's absence performed its duty to the people of this land.

The first thing she noticed was that it wasn't quite as muddy as it had been last time and she didn't quite know what to make of that. Until it occurred to her that it was a lack of traffic that made the streets seem more serene. There were no horses and carriages coming through here.

There had been hunger here the last time she'd come, but she saw no one now. The shops were shut. The toymaker's shop was dark and locked. Where had they gone? Was the village deserted? No, it couldn't be. People came for the grain.

As they pulled up, it was quiet for a while, no movement until people slowly started to emerge, their bowls in hand waiting for the grain shipment. Because she was there, they were more tentative in approaching—worried to see her. Perhaps they should be as she came with bad news, perhaps devastating news.

There was silence as they tentatively approached the grain cart, taking their share and removing themselves as quickly as they could, as if they feared someone appearing. Maybe it wasn't her they feared, but someone else.

Hermione tried to smile at anyone who looked at her. How could she stop the grain shipments? These people were utterly dependent on them—but her stocks were running low and eventually, she would run out, and thereby put her entire estate in a weakened position.

Children looked utterly ragged and hungry, some having no shoes on their feet, standing on the cold ground with their tiny, bare feet. No one could afford the shoemaker, it seemed, hence the shoemaker shut up shop. Or they'd sold their shoes out of sheer desperation.

The tavern was where the leaders of the village, such as they were, had been the last time she'd come here. They'd been surly and threatening last time and she expected even more anger now. Perhaps the people were too hungry to be angry.

"Come with me," she said to a couple of her guards, and started walking into the village toward where the tavern was.

It still had light inside and it has warm, wood burning in the fire. As she looked at it, she saw it was part of an old cart or furniture. The village was consuming itself.

As before, everyone stopped as she entered, stared at her in her in her warm, fine clothes. "I've come to inquire about the state of the village," she said and no one spoke. Eyes simply stared at her.

"We're starving," a man finally said.

Hermione didn't know what to say. Her shipments were crucial. "Are there any grain shipments other than mine?"

"No," another man said. "They stopped, in place of payment for recruitment."

"Recruitment?" Malfoy, the bastard, must have stopped the shipment. And now he was recruiting men.

"There is to be a war. Haven't you heard? Payment for anyone who enlists."

"My stocks are not endless. They will run out," she admitted, to get nothing but silence. "Who manages these lands around the village?"

"It's crown land."

"And why does it not support you?"

"The field hands left. The horses were taken. There is no one to manage it. Even if we grew something, it would be taken away," the barman said, crossing his arms.

"This land must be used to feed this village," Hermione said and a man snorted. "Do you have a better suggestion?" she challenged.

"We could get rid of people like you," a man said. Hermione recognised him. It was the same man that had challenged her and made her uncomfortable last time.

"She's the one feeding us," another said to him. "Without her, we'd have nothing."

Getting up, the man snorted. "They are the cause of our misery," he said sharply, his words aimed at everyone in the tavern. "They did this. They took everything and now they're starting a war, where we are the ones that are going to die. Half of us starve, the other half fodder for their fucking armies."

"He's right," Hermione admitted, silence descending on the room, "but I do not have the power to change that. Right now, however, food is the main concern, and I am going to try. There is land here—farm it."

"They will simply take our crops."

"I will get dispensation."

"You are a dreamer."

"I will get you assurance from Captain Bergen." Everyone knew who Captain Bergen was. He was feared uniformly across the land, but he was respected and a signed letter from them, they would take as truth. "Pigs and sheep, rear as many as you can for your own purposes. Sow the fields."

"And when the war comes?" the challenger said, turning to her. He was young, about her age. Green eyes and brown, messy hair. "Then what?"

"It is not your war. Stay out of their way."

"We have nowhere to go, lady." He used her title like an insult.

"I'm sorry. I wish I could solve every problem, but I can't. I tried, but they are more interested in war than they are anything else. Let them exhaust themselves. This will end eventually."

"For you, perhaps," he said, stepping closer.

Hermione refused to be intimidated. "Triage. It's a necessary concept. It means to fight the battles you can win."

"I know what it means," he said with derision. He wasn't stupid. There was intelligence in his eyes.

"Then lead your village through these hard times. Find a way to feed and protect them."

"I thought you were going to do that."

"I will do what I can," she said, running out of patience. "Do what is necessary. It's useless to lament how unfair it all it. It is unfair. No one is arguing that. It's shit, but it's the card that has been dealt. So take them and make the best use of them. I will try the best I can, but no one is watching out for you other than you. Don't expect assistance. Your anger is not going to feed this village."

She'd had enough of arguing with him. If he refused to be practical, there was nothing she could do for him. There was no point lamenting how unjust it was. They were well beyond any notion of justice here. Didn't he understand that.

Taking one last look around, she felt, her skirt sweeping the doorway as she did. The cold was sharp away from the warmth of the tavern, where most of the village seemed to congregate. In a sense, she was both angry and disappointed. The anger they had was undermining them. But in a sense he was right too. The crown could easily see it as within its right to take any crop they grew. Wildersmith or Malfoy would quite happily loot anything the village had to feed their armies, which they were both growing, seeing their needs before anyone else—their own version of triage.

The times were darkening, and it was impossible to sell these people any hope, because the situation was increasingly hopeless. It wasn't just this village suffering. All others must be as well, except Colmire was better off in that she was spending her stores supporting them.

The only way forward that she could see was to twist the arm of the administration until they let the village use the land around them for their own purposes—especially now that no one was farming it, if their statement that the hands were gone, as were the horses. With no help, they couldn't produce much of a crop, but perhaps enough to feed themselves.

She would have to go to the citadel, make another attempt to get them to see reason. Even as she said it, she knew it was wrong. Malfoy and Wildersmith probably wouldn't sit down and talk about anything. They were both preparing for war. And Terry Boot was useless in all regards. The only thing she could do was get assurance from Captain Bergen that he would not interfere with the villagers growing crop to feed themselves. It would be Terry would seek to confiscate it—unfortunately, probably for a village in worse need than this one.

It was hard not to feel the hopelessness pressing down on her. Maybe a quick end to the war would be the best possible outcome. They would end up with a ruler again, who had full and absolute power over everyone in this land. For so long, she had sought a better outcome, but it looked impossible to achieve one.


	76. Chapter 76

Chapter 76

"Again," the elderly man said and Draco flourished his wand, sending a fierce surge of energy flowed from his wand and struck the tree, sending splinters flying. Finally, Draco thought, lowering his aching arm. It had taken hours to harness the magic inside him. So long unused, it had simply faded like an unused muscle.

How useful it would be, he didn't know. His spies told him that Wildesmith was working on his latent magic as well. However, most the army were men who had never used magic and even if they were magical, wouldn't have the skill and training to access it. The merest hint of magic and Voldemort would remove said person, insisting on a hundred percent control of magic in this land.

Any education in magic had to be conducted with the highest of secrecy, and this war will likely be the first time it would be used in public since well before Voldemort took over.

Trying a few more times, Draco tried to increase the intensity of his hexes, but they stayed roughly the same. They would burn any victim, causing an egregious amount of pain, but it did not have the reach or the potential for damage of an army full of longbows and blades. It was simply another weapon.

Returning to his tent, he sat down and poured himself a glass of wine. The noise of camp was relentless and the canvas of his tent did little to dim it. His army was marching, steadily moving toward the citadel where the battleground had been agreed.

In two days, they would meet and they would battle.

They were well matched. From what his spies told him, Wildesmith had gathered an impressive army, but had men trained to fight, and more who were pressed into service. The guard refused to pick sides, and it was true that they were needed to guard the lands against falling into total chaos.

His spies also told him that Hermione had left her estate and gone to Colmire. She had shortly returned again. Her nature had driven her to see for herself the state of Colmire, but it had been foolish and dangerous. The trouble with Hermione was that she compromised for no one, including her own safety.

Her nature would also not see her pick sides in this war, out of objection. It was foolish and irrational, but she would bend for no one. In a way, it was a quality he admired. But it also negated everything they could have together. Together they would have been strong. Together they could defeat Wildesmith.

This war was unavoidable. Perhaps it always had been. Wildesmith was a brilliant strategist when it came to business, but how that would relate to battle, Draco didn't know. It would not serve him to underestimate his enemy. The battle would be hard and many would die—perhaps even him.

Pulling out a piece of parchment, he picked up his quill and it hovered over the paper.

 _In two days, I ride out to battle_ , he started, then didn't know how to continue. There were so many things he wanted to say. This was the first time he'd written to her since she'd left his estate. They now had a child together, a child he had never seen. _I know you wish this war would never happen, but it was always inevitable._ In her heart, she knew that was true, as much as she didn't want to admit it. This had to be done. They would never have peace otherwise. Even if he had never challenged Wildesmith, he would always be seen as a threat. This is what she didn't understand. She thought they could simply exist in peace if they chose to. Perhaps they weren't quite as noble as she wished them to be. Perhaps they were not as noble as she.

For some reason, his fingers refused to form the words he wanted to say. For ages, he simply stared at the parchment. _How is my daughter?_

Screwing up the parchment, he threw it across the desk and picked a new one and stared at it blankly, stroking along his eyebrow with his fingers. Speaking to her seemed impossible. What he really wanted to say was that he wished she'd stand by him in this. He wanted her to understand that he was doing this for them.

Obviously, he would never have her anywhere near the battlefield, and he had to be grateful that she didn't want to be there, but to be nearby, to be worried for him and wishing him victory. Did she not understand how much that mattered to him?

For a moment, he had to consider whether he'd been better off if she had never come to the citadel. He hadn't needed anyone back then, but her arrival had changed that.

He simply had to win this war, and then he could deal with her. She would come around once her pride was smoothed. It was also not in her nature to stay away once things were settled. Some aggrievance, probably on behalf of the peasants or elves would draw her to court, and then she would have to deal with him.

Her body and how it reacted to him told him everything he needed to know. She would return—if only to confirm her daughter's safety. Her children were always her primary concern—like a lioness guarding her brood.

Writing this letter was proving more difficult than he expected, but he couldn't put it to side.

 _In two days, I ride into battle. The sides are well matched and there will be casualties. I know you hate every part of this, but it was always inevitable. It is necessary for a peaceful future. I wish you could understand that. If I do not survive, you will have to deal with Wildesmith and he will always be very wary of you. You need to watch your back._

Putting the quill back in the ink, he paused. He had no plans of succumbing in this battle, but he wasn't foolhardy enough to conceive that it was impossible. A piercing arrow or a well-rendered hex and it could happen.

The baby she cared for was now his legacy. Small and innocent, and completely unaware of what she meant in the world. Having never seen her, his mind had formed an image of her.

 _I trust you wish me well in this endeavor_. Did she though? Or did she wish him to fail? Wildesmith would kill him if he failed. It really was succeed or die. She did understand that, didn't she?

There were so many things he wished he could say, but he couldn't bring himself to. Folding the parchment, he heated wax to seal it. "Bring a messenger," he called to the guard just outside his tent.

Leaning back, he stared at the letter lying on his desk. How would she respond to it? Were his sentiments hinted enough? He supposed it didn't matter now. Battle was coming, and her feelings on it had very little influence. It would just be nice to see some concern.

"Take this to Lady Nott," he said when a rider appeared, dressed in a traveling cloak. "At the earliest opportunity."

The man nodded and took the letter. Too late to say anything else now.

Leaving the tent, he turned his mind to the practical things. So much planning had already gone into this. Men had been trained and armed. The blacksmiths were still working furiously. Horses were being tended and men fed.

Trampled mud squelched beneath his feet. Everywhere around him, there were unpleasant smells of wet leather, horses, swine, men and mud. Battle was dirty business, and shortly the smell of blood would be pervasive, stinging the nose with its nauseating sweetness.

Everyone was busy, making preparations, getting themselves set up for the coming evening. The men would drink tonight, celebrate their lives and victories. Tomorrow, most would be too nervous and introspective to drain their cups. Only an idiot would charge into battle with wool in their head.

At the crack of dawn, they would march to the battleground and make camp. One more night after and the morning of battle would dawn. There was a sense of anticipation in the air. He was familiar with it, knowing it from all of Voldemort's campaigns. Although they had never had been a battle such as this. With Voldemort, the majority of battles had been grossly unfair. At times it had even been a slaughter.

Voldemort's guard had been, and still were, highly skilled men often fighting peasants with farm implements rather than weapons. It had been different in the beginning when battles had been more fierce, but as the enemy fell, the calibre of opposition increasingly lowered until there was none left.

This war would instead be clean. One victor would emerge and this war would settle on a course for the future. Any sub sequential challenger to the throne wouldn't have any legitimacy. Draco was certainly not going to leave the throne in such a weak state that it would be threatened by challengers.

This battle, although probably not the only in this war. There would be more, but they would pit their skills against each other, and the war could well be foretold in two days time. And Draco refused to be the loser. While he lived, he would fight.


	77. Chapter 77

Chapter 77

Sitting in her study, Hermione stared into the fire. Draco's letter sat on the desk where she had left it. He was riding into battle, probably around now. It could well be that he was dead, and she didn't know. A deep frown crossed her brow. He was right in his letter when he said she hated all of this, but there was nothing she could do to avoid or prevent it.

There was an accusation in the letter, an uncertainty that she wished him well. It hurt. Not just because he wasn't sure she wished him well, but also that the state of their relationship was such that they couldn't rely on each other. It felt like a failure, but she couldn't trade peace between them by betraying everything she felt was right.

Was there anything anymore, though? Was it all wrong, and heading in a worse direction? It seemed like she couldn't really tell which way was up anymore. Was going to war the wise thing to do when the right thing was unavailable.

And then there were the starving and angry people of Colmire. Should she be working with Draco to get them what they needed? Ultimately, it would be a short-term measure that would eventually deliver them all onto servitude again. Was the price of freedom too high, especially as her objections to how things were going seemed to impact very little.

Glancing over at the desk, she saw the letter, the embodiment of proof that their relationship was given second place to the theater of dominance. They were both guilty of it, and that spoke uncomfortable truths about them.

What point was there in dwelling on it? Her task was to speak to Captain Burgess and ensure he will not step in if these villagers fend for themselves. The land around their village should be theirs. Both Wildesmith and Draco were too distracted to concern themselves.

Hermione rose from her chair and walked out of her study. There was silence in the house. Both Charis and Tabain were sleeping—for once at the same time. It was a miracle, she thought with a smile. Every day, they reminded her that there was still good in the world, there was still principles worth fighting for.

Those principles meant she had to return to the citadel, at least for a short while. There was no doubt in her mind that the place was no longer safe—and that was from both sides. No one saw very favorably on her at the moment.

A knock on the door, drew one of the footmen out and there were hurried whispers. Closing the door, she saw that the man was seeking her.

"Here," she said, drawing his attention.

"There are men approaching," he said.

Instantly, Hermione felt her hackles rise. This could not be good. Was she under attack? Which of her enemies? They must have waited until the battle to act against her. Where were her defenses? "How many?"

"Five."

"Five?" she said with surprise. No one would attack her with five men. This was clearly something else. An envoy? It was still a strange time to send an envoy. Or perhaps Draco really had fallen. Discomfort spread up her spine. No, it would be too quick. The news would not travel so fast.

Who were these men? Returning to the study, she went to the window. A horse and cart were seen in the distance. Clearly not one of the nobles, or even citadel business. This was something else.

As Hermione watched, they drew closer and she didn't recognize any of these men. They were roughly dressed. Until she saw the man from the Colmire tavern, the angry one—the troublemaker. He was clearly the leader of this gang. Men with such strong opinions didn't follow other men. What in the world could he want with her?

Taking a seat at her desk, she waited for them to be led to her. They looked somber and out of place when they survived, looking around her study and house as if it was a marvel. Not the leader—he was looking directly at her, while the others were more sparing in their eye contact.

"How can I help you?" Hermione asked and was met by silence for a moment. She knew exactly which one of them would speak. "I'm afraid I don't even know your name."

"Potter," the man with green eyes said. He was young, couldn't be older than her.

"Mr. Potter. You've come a long way to be here."

"There is battle at the moment," he said.

"I am aware." It surprised her that the people of Colmire knew.

"Battle to decide who gets to subjugate us."

Some of the others shifted where they stood, but not him. His eyes didn't shift from her as if he was surveying her reaction.

"Yes," she said. What was the point of denying it? It was true.

"This land used to belong to us before Voldemort came, and now he is gone. This land should belong to us again."

Hermione stared at him, seeing stubborn resentment in his eyes. What he was saying was understandable. "They won't listen," she finally said. "I have tried, but they only see this way."

"Then we must make them listen."

"What exactly do you have in mind, Mr. Potter?"

"We take it back."

"Two armies are fighting against each other. Armies who would turn their attention on you in a heartbeat if you constituted a threat."

"Armies made up of our men. They are only men and they only have power because we give it to them. We outnumber them by a hundred to one if not more."

"Women, children and old men. Voldemort decimated any strength he could find."

"People are ready to end this. They simply need a rallying call."

Hermione sighed. "It's more complicated than that."

"Not, it isn't," he said sharply. "It's time to take our land back. And besides your lavish house and your position amongst these people, it was our people you came from, or have you forgotten?"

Chewing her lip, Hermione narrowed her eyes. "It takes more than anger to truly be effective. Unfortunately working within the system is more effective."

"There is no system right now, and it's time for a new one."

"What are you suggesting?"

"I am suggesting that you lead us?"

"In a revolt?" she said with surprise.

"In taking our lands back," he urged. "We're here; we're ready to do something about it. The purebloods have shown in no uncertain terms how little they care about us. We're starving in the streets and they are playing games with each other."

"They are going to war. It is more than games."

"We're not playing anymore and the time to do something about it is now. It is time to act."

"Then why do you need me? Act. I will not stand in your way."

"Because it needs to be all of us. We need a beacon—someone strong. Someone people can get behind."

Absently, Hermione's fingers stroked her lips.

"We have spoken to others," he continued. "They agree with us."

"What others?"

"Others who are ready to end this. We will not be dirt under their boots anymore."

"What you're suggesting is insane. It will never work," she implored.

"It will work if we have a strong leader. You have been part of their world and if you turn against it, others will see. They will follow you."

Hermione chuckled in disbelief. This was the most insane thing she had ever heard. She couldn't turn against the whole citadel. They would be slaughtered. The guard would gather and ride against them. Not to mention Draco and Wildesmith. Still, Mr. Smith did have a point that both the armies were made up out of men who had no true loyalty to the nobles.

The guard was still the problem. They were highly skilled men whose main job was to quell revolt. But it was more than simply a revolt they were talking about here. This was a movement, a rise of the people to take on their subjugators. That is what all revolters said, though.

It would only work if they moved en masse. It couldn't just be a pocket. It had to be all of them.

No, this was insane. She wasn't a leader. Why did this man think people would listen to her? Because she had lived and survived within the citadel? Or was it because she fed them when no one else would?

This man had no love for her—that much she knew, but he was here because he knew she was needed. She had to be that rallying cry that moved people past their fears. What made him think people would follow her? Perhaps because they were desperate for a leader.

Doing this would mean destroying the whole system. It would not be some council of nobles that would lead them. It would mean getting rid of the nobles entirely. It was madness, but it was an alternative to a new liege who had absolute power over them.

"There were others you mentioned who are ready to support you. Who are these others?" she asked.


	78. Chapter 78

Chapter 78

The thick of battle was a messy affair. The noise was pervasive. Men screaming, even horses screaming. But mostly Draco heard the beat of his own heart in his ears, this focus completely absorbed in where the next threat was coming from.

It was too much to take in at once, his attention competed between scanning for threat and focusing on finding his enemy. If Wildersmith were to die in battle, things would resolve very quickly. The man wasn't stupid however—it was unlikely he would leave himself exposed.

Sword in one hand and wand in another, he also tried to manage the reins of his horse, whose panic was palpable.

His wand was powerful, but his sword was more accurate and more reliable. His was not the only magic on the battlefield, the flash of magic being seen in other parts. It seemed Wildersmith had his magic bearers as well—if not himself. Draco's spies had failed to tell him the degree of magic within his enemy's hands.

A man rushed toward him and Draco bore down his sword into the man's shoulder. Faltering, he fell under the horse's hooves.

Neither side seemed to have an advantage and the battle was fierce. Battle too long and the men would run out of energy.

Sharply turning the horse around, he searched for someone to slay. Sweat ran down his back, his armor heavy and pressing. The zinging burn of a hex hit his back, but dissipated on the steel. Turning again, he sought the magic bearer, dropping the reins to free his wand. They would be out of the reach of his sword.

For a moment, he saw no one, then a man who he didn't know, holding a sword and staring with hard eyes. In that moment, Draco knew that Wildersmith had hired mercenaries. Well, from what he could see, Draco's men were holding their own.

With a flourish, he sent a hex toward the man, who deflected it expertly. Wherever this man had come from, Draco didn't know. Voldemort would not have allowed magical mercenaries in the land. Draco should have anticipated that Wildersmith would have gone looking for people like this.

The man raised his wand and Draco prepared to defend himself, but a sword to the right connected with the man's head, and the expensive mercenary was no more. Too much reliance on magic left one weak, it seemed, and the man obviously hadn't learned that lesson—to his own peril.

Grabbing the reins again, Draco searched for his next engagement, which came immediately, the swinging of a heavy battle axe coming his way. This whole body had to defend against the blow, jarring down his bones. The vibration from the hit stayed with his hands, while he brought up his boot and kicked the combatant away from him. The man fell back into the mud, but it wasn't worth getting off his horse to finish him off. His position on his horse was crucial, giving him a clear advantage to the people below him.

Urging his horse forward, he swung at a man readying to make a killing blow on one of Draco's soldiers. The look of surprise on the man's face when Draco's sword pierced his side was almost comical—but there was no comedy in a battle scene. It was brutal and gory, and there was no way around that.

Continuing to slash and hack, Draco pushed his way through the crowd. Wildersmith was nowhere in sight, the coward, probably left his men to fight his battle for him. That might keep him safe, but it didn't garner the respect of his men. In the end, this would make Draco stronger as men never wanted a coward for a leader.

In the thick of battle, an errant thought of Hermione and their daughter opened his mind. If he died today, he would never get to meet his daughter, and the girl would grow up completely under her mother's influence. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Hermione was strong and willful, intelligent and even cunning, and the girl would be loved. No one could doubt how much Hermione loved her children. She loved them more than she did him.

Pushing his thoughts away, he focused. This was the worst place to lose focus.

The men were tiring, having fought with every bit of strength. The strokes were coming slower and slower and increasingly, men stood breathing, trying to catch their breath.

Neither side had retreated, and neither looked likely to. At some point, he would have to order retreat. They were reaching a stalemate and neither side had won. It had simply been battle. But the call came and it wasn't his. Wildersmith was withdrawing his forces.

The noise of battle petered our and left were the screams of the injured. The stillness revealed the bodies on the ground, both those moving or not.

"Withdraw," Draco ordered even if the men had assumed so before the command. The men needed to recuperate and the injured retrieved. Already men were carried away and Draco turned his back on the scene and rode silently back. Even his horse seemed exhausted.

It wasn't a victory, but it wasn't a defeat. Still, Wildersmith's behavior would play in Draco's favor. Draco's hands were stained with blood and dirt, his whole body aching from the impacts of blows, including the hex. While the magic had not reached him, the heat of it had and it still burned along the skin of his back.

Riding to his tent, he got down, his ankle feeling weak as he dismounted. An elf took the reins from him and would care for his horse. Draco retreated into his tent, where a manservant helped him divest his armor. His body felt light as the heavy weight came off, and he grabbed a glass of wine to parch a dry and strained throat. It stung as he swallowed. Now he felt how much strain the yelling at the men had caused.

The smell of blood was pervasive and he wasn't going to escape it anytime soon. Continuing to undress, he stripped himself of everything that had any sign of battle and ended up in nothing but his briefs. He hated the blood and gore on him and went to wash it away, washing with soap on both his skin and hair.

Clean, he felt somewhat better. While he relished a political overture, he hated battle, always had. It was the basest form of engagement, but this was a point where it was necessary. Voldemort had relished it, but the fact that Wildersmith hadn't even appeared on the battle showed he didn't relish it either. His cowardice was Draco's strength.

Dressing in a loose dark shirt and pants, he sat down at his desk and told his manservant he was able to tend to business. His hair still dripped from its wash, soaking into the shoulders of his shirt.

His scouts appeared to inform him of what the enemy was doing, all returning to their camp. Draco bid them to return to their duties of watching Wildersmith's camp.

Another appeared. Draco twisted his head with surprise and curiosity. This was one of the men he'd assigned to watch Hermione.

"Lady Nott has left the estate," the man said.

"With her children?" Draco asked, wondering what might have driven her to leave her estate.

"No, but with men."

"What men?"

"Men from Colmire village."

Draco waited for the man to continue.

"They are returning to Colmire, but she has also sent a messenger to the citadel."

"Did you intercept it?"

"No, she sent an armed escort."

That was curious. Why would Hermione send an armed escort to deliver a letter to the citadel? Was it that she was writing to him and delivering it to the citadel. It wasn't far away. If so, it would arrive with him in mere hours. Hermione knew they were in battle, and it was unlike her to make such careless mistakes.

"Find out where the letter went," Draco ordered. "And let me know what she does in Colmire."

"Colmire is difficult. My men are visible there. They see us and know what we are."

"They are suspicious?"

"Very much so."

Running his thumb along his lower lip, he considered what he was hearing. Hermione had men from Colmire in her house, then left with them for Colmire. "How long where the men at her estate?" he asked.

"Not long. Three hours or thereabouts."

"And she did not appear to be in distress?"

The people of Colmire were hungry and desperate. Was it that they had coerced her? Had kidnapped her to use for leverage. But then Hermione, being so aware of the suffering of the villagers, could be acting to assist them. Her grain shipments were still continuing like clockwork.

"Let me know the minute she leaves Colmire," Draco ordered. "I want to know if there are any signs that she is being held against her will. The dismissed man left and Draco was left to his own thoughts.

Any indication of aggression to her, he would have to send men in to retrieve him. It was fully possible that these men would take advantage of her soft heart, but then Draco would be more worried if it was someone other than Hermione. But capable as she was, she was also prone to acting rashly.


	79. Chapter 79

Chapter 79

Nothing much had changed in Colmire, but there was an energy that hadn't been there. Hope, perhaps. It was only perceptible in people's faces, but they didn't linger as they walked past. There was icy wind today and it tugged on Hermione's coat.

Nerves had set deep in Hermione's belly. This could go really badly. Captain Burgess brutally rooted out revolts and here she was informing him that she was about to launch one. He could just smite her on the spot.

Although he performed his duty with consistency and provision, even he had to have some doubts. Well, they would find out in any event.

Potter walked by her. She still couldn't figure what made this man tick—other than sheer loathing. It was clear that the men listened to him, but he couldn't do this alone. He wouldn't have come unless he needed her. He alone was not enough to make this more than a regional revolt, and he was obviously smart enough to know that it needed to be more to have a chance of success. At least he was willing to put that aside in order to achieve what he wants. It reminded her of Draco. Probably like Draco, she was only useful if she achieved his ambition.

Well, she wasn't here because she supported Potter and his ambition. Draco had learnt that. She was here because she wanted to change how things worked, and maybe she was using Potter as much as he was using her. For now, their ambitions coincided. If at some point, they didn't, that wasn't something that could concern her.

Her time at the citadel had changed her. It was impossible not to recognize it, but hardness was required to make the changes she needed to. If she hadn't developed her own strength, she would be under someone's thumb by now, and all of this was about not being under someone's thumb. There were too many power plays in the current system, the pureblood's suppressing everyone else, the purebloods bullying and suppressing one another. Lastly, the purebloods trying to suppress her. The whole country longed to be free. Potter know it, but he wasn't strong enough to make it happen, and he knew it. If she was, remained to be seen.

Apparently the battle between Draco and Wildersmith had ended without a clear victor. Neither would give up, which meant this was the first of more battles. Their distraction gave her the opportunity to gather all those who wanted change, and by sheer number they would enforce it. Luckily, Potter had done a lot of the groundwork dealing with other villages. Somehow his activities hadn't been noticed by Voldemort. For all his passion and zeal, he was smart enough to hide himself.

Arriving at the main square in the center of the village, she waited. The missive she had sent to Captain Burgess had clearly stated the urgency and she'd be surprised if he didn't come. Again, it was her name that drew the good captain here, and it was her name that would lead to them talking rather than an outright massacre.

The sound of horses riding hard echoed off the walls. Captain Burgess wasn't coming alone. Breathing deeply, Hermione calmed her heart. This was a step that could not be undone—a firm and decisive step. This action made her a rebel leader.

Captain Burgess arrived in person, and Hermione suspected that he already half understood why she had called him. Drawing his attention to a revolt wouldn't after all be something she would do.

The tall man descended from his horse. Five men were with him, their arms and armor worn from use. Except for their captain, they stayed on their horses. Hermione's men stood behind her. If they really were her men. Their loyalty hadn't been tested, but she could depend on their ambition. If things turned sticky, would they turn and run. Perhaps. "Lady Nott," Captain Burgess said.

A weary smile formed on her lips. Burgess wasn't likable, but he was dependable, and right now, she sought to break his loyalty. Like most of his men, the captain wasn't a pureblood. He didn't belong with the families that ruled over this land, kept all its resources and served themselves first in all things.

"The purebloods have never been good custodians of this land," she said.

"Are you proposing a revolt?" he asked.

"Revolt against what? Who is it you serve? Voldemort is dead. There has never been a ruler other than him." Technically that was correct. "That the purebloods should continue to rule after his death is a mere assumption."

The captain didn't say anything when Hermione stopped talking. His expression was hard to read.

Clearing her throat, Hermione continued. "It is not some simple revolt I am proposing. This is our land and we need to take it back. Yours too. What says you are bound to serve either Wildersmith or Malfoy?"

The Captain twisted his head slightly, his expression still barren. "So you intend to take them both on?"

"This is not for me. They need to be dislodged for a more equitable society. Everyone needs to have a voice, and the people are not subdued for one person's ambition."

"But you will become that person."

"No, I won't. We need a fair, political structure that is not dependent on one person. Else we'll have wars each time a new ruler is needed."

"You have always been an idealist," he said. It was a familiar accusation.

"No, merely ambitious, but not for my own betterment. All I am asking is that you accept this as a challenge as you do Wildersmith and Malfoy."

"Except you wish to tear down the throne."

"I wish a more robust, representative form of governance."

"Is that what these men want too?" he asked. "Are you so sure their ambitions match yours?"

"They seek better lives for their families. Why would they not? They are starving. They were starving under Voldemort, and both Wildersmith and Malfoy have clearly proven that they care for their own ambition than they do about ensuring the safety and welfare of the people of this land. Why should we put up with that? Why is that something you must enforce?"

"You do this, they will both turn on you."

"Perhaps. Although they will both see each other as the bigger threat."

"Not for long. Don't underestimate them."

"I'm not, but don't underestimate me either. And by me, I mean us. Without us, the purebloods are nothing more than children in a sandbox."

"They both have armies."

"You expect to take their armies from them?" There was surprise in his voice.

"I think it would be hard for most men to justify fighting against their own villages, against their own families for the sake of some pureblood lord."

"You speak as if you have the support of villages beyond this one."

"Of course I do," Hermione said with a smile. "You know how much people wish to speak. They have been waiting for someone to unite them."

"They are disorganized and discordant."

"Not anymore," Hermione said, taking more on faith than she really should. Being able to gather all the unhappy people was simply an assumption on her part. How ran Potter had influence was still unproven, but she knew that constant revolts the guard had to suppress, meant that people wanted to act. "We wish you would decide you don't have a dog in this fight."

"That would result in chaos."

"Or it will result in a movement," she said emphatically. "Please don't stand in our way."

Narrowed eyes considered her. Not exactly gushing with enthusiasm. "This could result in utter chaos."

"We already have utter chaos. Do you really think we are better off with another rule with absolute power, and what is absolute power isn't possible they way it had been with Voldemort? Is it your role to ensure an absolute monarch is placed on the throne?"

"It is my job to ensure stability." Silence was thick and Hermione hoped no one could hear the powerful beating of her heart. It wasn't perhaps necessary to blatantly point out that it wasn't his place to determine what kind of governance was enacted. Perhaps that was what he believed, but he hadn't arrested her so far. That didn't mean he wasn't about to.

The men behind her taking the guard on would not end well. It had to be avoided. Urgently, her mind raced through what would happen if she were arrested. It might not spell the end of this. Potter may well seek to use her arrest as a means of gathering people. There was a good chance it would make little difference. There was no ruler to act against her, so it wasn't as if her safety would be compromised—at least not until a victor emerged between Draco and Wildersmith.

Still, when a victor emerged, she would be a threat. Taking this step solidified that beyond any doubt. Her alive would always be validity to someone like Potter. This was churning no matter what Captain Burgess did now—or was that just wishful thinking. Perhaps too much wind would be taken out of the movement's sails and wholesale slaughter would ensure. With heavy heart, Hermione swallowed. This was such a large risk, but it needed to be done. This change needed to happen and it was the time to do it.

"Don't get in my way," Captain Burgess said briskly, then turned to mount his horse. "I won't help you, but the guard does not get involved with a contest for the throne, irrespective of ambition."

Relief washed over Hermione. He had accepted her as a contender on par with Malfoy and Wildersmith. This meant, they did not have to fear the guard, provided they didn't interfere with movement on the roads, or supplies reaching the citadel.

"Also—" she started.

"I am not giving you more concessions," he said sharply.

"I am simply saying that the people of the village need some of the harvest from the land here. This land would be productive if they gained from farming it. Starving bodies don't work."

"I thought you wished these starving bodies to serve your ambitions."

"Serve their ambitions," she corrected.

"Perhaps it is only that your words are sweeter than others'."

He was challenging her, implying that she was doing this to place herself on the throne, making her no better than others. These people didn't come to her for that, and she would prove Captain Burgess wrong. All she wanted was a work where she could safely spend time caring for her family. Achieving it was meant destroying everything that was.


	80. Chapter 80

Chapter 80

Steadily, Draco's horse walked through the silent surrounds of the forest. The echoes of battle had dissipated and all seemed quiet and peaceful. His sword was at his side, his wand at the other, half expecting an attack. It would be shameful, but he wouldn't put it past Wildersmith to forgo his honor.

His officers were soberly riding behind him, nervous about the talks ahead. Their immediate future depended on this talk. It would determine the next battle. Surrender wasn't something Draco was expecting at this point.

The glade for the meeting point came into sight and Wildersmith was already there, standing with his hand resting on his sword. He looked to unfit to be a soldier, but it seemed he did little in the battle other than direct people from a safe distance. That would hurt him in the end, but it did mean that Wildersmith was unlikely to die on the battlefield.

It would be more convenient for everyone if he died, but the sentiment was likely mutual.

"Malfoy," he said as Draco emerged into the glade and dismounted his horse. Wildersmith was dressed in full regalia, gold brocade and polished and Draco wondered if he was supposed to be impressed. He wasn't one for buffoonery himself.

"Wildersmith. Ready to concede?"

The man snorted. "I was about to ask you the same. Your men are underequipped and undertrained."

Neither was true, but Draco supposed Wildersmith believed he could shake his confidence. Draco's spies told a different story. Wildersmith did have more numbers in his army, but he did cut corners, especially on food. Hungry men didn't fight well, but Wildersmith couldn't overcome his frugal nature, particularly when it benefitted other people. He truly would make a terrible liege.

"I wonder how many of your numbers can be induced to switch sides," Malfoy said with a smile. Wildersmith's expression told he knew his own weakness. His report with his men wasn't stellar. Hungry men were never appreciative. Could be that disturbing Wildersmith's supply lines would pay dividend.

"I have been wondering the same about your woman. Last time I checked, she hadn't reneged on our alliance, but she is running around causing trouble from what I hear. Who can respect you as a ruler if you can't even control your own woman?" The sneer on Wildersmith's face suggested he'd been holding onto this one.

His own spied had also told him that Hermione had been active. Exactly with what, he didn't know, but she'd had a meeting the captain of the guard, which had to be meaningful. Draco didn't know the content of what was said during that meeting, but he knew it had taken place.

"Seems she is making waves with the peasants," Wildersmith continued. "They whisper of her in villages all over the land. It seems she may be entering the fray after all. For all her soft words, her ambition shines through her actions. Seeks to flank us both for the throne."

If Wildersmith believed that, he didn't know her. Hermione didn't have the ambition to be a ruler, but she was up to something. "The lady does as she pleases," Draco said.

Her rejection of him still hurt. It wasn't something she was talking about, because Wildersmith still assumed they were united, or perhaps more than they should be, and it was a failing on Draco's part that she wasn't under control. One didn't control Hermione. Wildersmith apparently refused to see that.

There was that hope in his heart that wished she was acting to help him, that in her way, she was working against Wildersmith, but she didn't reveal her intentions to him. "We battle again in a week from today," Draco said. "Unless you reneg, in which case, I will accept your surrender."

"Then we will meet this day in a week." Wildersmith's face was practiced arrogance. Draco smiled back. If he had any influence on it, Wildersmith's men would be weaker in a week and their forces would grow more uneven.

"Until then," Draco said with a bow and turned his back. It was his own sigh of arrogance. Wildersmith could draw his sword and cut him down, but Draco would see by the expression on his men's faces if Wildersmith or any of his men tried anything. Draco almost wished he would—it would end this war quickly. With his bulk, Wildersmith would not be the best one on one combatant. Hence, Draco felt fairly assured Wildersmith wouldn't take the chance, but one could always hope.

Mounting his horse, Draco rode back the way he'd come, his men behind him. The forest soon enveloped them out of view and drowned any sounds of the departing enemy.

This upcoming battle was necessary and Draco would ensure it started the tide of this war flowing his way. He would be the stronger side. Aside, though, Hermione's activities were noticed. She had a habit of putting herself at risk, enough that Wildersmith was paying attention to her—might even encouraged to act.

It couldn't be denied that she was up to something. Her name was mentioned in villages across the land, but now it was perhaps time to understand her intentions.

"Present Richerley," Draco demanded as he returned to his tent and his man went to do his bidding. It didn't take long for the man to appear. Richerley had started collating the intelligence from Draco's various agents. "Is Lady Nott at her estate?"

"She leaves often. There are people coming and going."

With a sigh, Draco sat down at his desk and put his feet up and leaned back. She was definitely up to something. "Who?"

"We don't have any names, or identities. No one that can be identified on sight."

Which meant they were no one of incident. Peasants in other words. No doubt she was enacting one of her lofty and misguided plans. Hermione did have enough zeal that she got people to listen to her, even if they failed to execute as she wished them to. Big dreams that people failed to deliver.

"I need to go see her," he said, more to himself than anyone else. Everything about Hermione was prickly, but her activities were drawing attention and she had a propensity for putting herself in danger. There was still a change that Wildersmith would act against her. "Bring my officers."

In his absence, they had to be prepared for an attack. Wildersmith could well have intended that he go seek Hermione out and was planning to ambush in his absence. They would prepare for the eventuality.

Leaving his officers behind with a firm response to an ambush, Draco left with a contingent of men. It was not the time for safe travel for anyone and as expected, he met sullen and fearful people on the roads. The guard were doing their duty, keeping overview on the main roads to quell any trouble. If the times had not been so uncertain and his trust in Hermione could be assured, he would apparate, but he couldn't be assured he wasn't walking into a trap. Wildersmith had blatantly stated he was trying to recruit Hermione. Not that Draco could see any promises Wildersmith could make that would sway her.

It took hours to reach the Nott estate and he could see for himself that there were people coming and going. Even a grain cart. She was still trying to feel every hungry mouth in the land. Her soft heart was bleeding her dry, when what was really needed was a swift resolution to this challenge for the throne, but her ideas were more important to her than a swift resolution. It was a hypocrisy he wished she could see.

The sad truth was that he did not know if he was riding into the lands of a friend or an enemy. Proof said she wasn't simply minding her own business on her estate. She was up to something.

A number of men stood in the courtyard by the main house, hard, unflinching stares of hatred. They were too wise to approach wizened fighting men, but Draco hadn't realized attack was a possibility on her estate until now.

"I am here to see Lady Nott," Draco said when the Nott estate butler appeared at the door. Looking around, Draco studied the men around. Peasants without a doubt. Were they farm hands? If so, she wasn't keeping them busy.

"The lady will see you," her man said and stepped aside. Draco walked into the house he had been to a number of times before in better times—when her husband had been alive and as close to a friend as he had ever had. They were less close after Theo's marriage, but apparently, he had been locking the world away from his little cocoon here with his wife.

Pain twisted his gut. She had refused that with him. The man showed him to what was Theo's study and he found Hermione sitting at the desk, beautiful as always, her dark hair flowing around her shoulders. Looking up, she frowned. Not exactly the expression he wanted.

There were two others there. Peasants with the same dark, hateful stares. The one closest to her had dark hair and cold green eyes. Letters were strewn all over the desk and she was writing a correspondence. "What have you been up to?" Draco asked.


	81. Chapter 81

Chapter 81

Dressed in black, Malfoy stood in her study. Not entirely expected, but it wasn't perhaps a surprise that he was there. As usual he wore no expression as his eyes traveled around the room and finally settled on her.

"Would you excuse us, Mr. Potter," Hermione said and the room was silent as Potter and his cohorts left, closing the door with a firm click. "Malfoy."

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Hermione had no idea what to say—certainly not how to say she was actively acting against him. It was nothing personal and she needed a way of conveying that.

"There are rumors of all sorts of things going on," he started, "and they all seem to center around you."

"There are things going on, I suppose."

"Who are these people?"

"Just concerned citizens."

Hermione refused to feel ashamed. There was nothing to be ashamed of. Yes, they were effectively on opposite sides.

"Concerned citizens," he repeated and took a step closer to the desk. All her materials, their planning was strewn over the desk, but there wasn't much he could garner from it, other than the fact that they were planning.

His face was drawn. He looked tired. In the middle of waging war, but something had drawn him here. "Why are you here?"

Eyes still avoiding her, he looked around the walls. "Theo was alive the last time I was in this room. Before you, I think, or before he told us of you. I don't know which. Seems a long time ago."

"It was a long time ago. A lot has happened in that time."

The conversation was awkward, stilted.

"How is the child?"

"She is fine. Upstairs." His eyes were on her now. Hermione felt the pressure of them. Suddenly anger welled up inside her—at how she'd been treated and at how he had failed her. "Nothing here," she said, indicating to everything on the desk, "has anything to do with what has happened between you and me."

"Then what does it have to do with?"

"The larger picture."

Malfoy chuckled. "They say you are entering the fray, aiming for the throne. Well, that is was Wildersmith says. He doesn't really understand you."

"No," Hermione said.

"Doesn't mean that will stop him from reacting. You will draw his attention; you already have."

"I expect so."

His eyes were searching hers and she had to stop herself from looking away. The disdain for her he'd managed in the past wasn't quite there. "So what are you doing? You might as well be honest."

Was there an accusation there, she wondered. "I have never not been honest."

Silence proved he didn't want to answer. Or was he simply trying to provoke her?

"There are a lot of people who don't want another liege to rule over them."

"And you are one of them," he said pointedly.

"Yes."

"So not only do you wish to reject me as a king, but you wish to reject the very ground I walk on."

"Yes," she confirmed after a while.

Silence descended again.

"You always said you have no ambition, but I think you misrepresent yourself."

"I do not wish to be a ruler."

"Simply a leader."

"Only because one is required."

"Such protests," he said with a tsk. "'I do not wish to rule, but I must.' One almost fails to believe you."

"You know I have wanted change from the very beginning."

"No, you kept telling me all you wanted was to return to your estate and be left alone. Which you have achieved, but it turns out that is not what you want."

Hermione was losing her temper. "I cannot ignore the atrocities that are happening around me."

"Yet you did not seek the quick solution by backing me. You went ambitious—and foolhardy. Now you wish to take on every pureblood in the land—the entire system."

"Yes," Hermione confirmed.

"How far do you feel my protection should reach?"

"I don't need your protection."

"I could kill you right here. You would not have the strength and skill to stop me. One could almost say it is my moral obligation." It was true. If he pulled out his sword, there was little she could do to stop him. No one would reach her in time.

A fission of fear speared through her at the thought, but on some level, she knew he wouldn't. The exact nature of what was stopping him, she didn't dare consider. Still, she wasn't brave enough to state that she knew he wouldn't. It would mean them both acknowledging what lay between them—and what tied them. "It would make me a martyr," she said instead.

"Your son, your children are a part of the structure you wish to destroy. It is their very future you are trying to tear down. You do understand that, don't you?"

"Of course I do. A new system will be in its place—a fairer system."

"Or one where they will have to address poverty. Perhaps even retribution. Or do you expect that your family and estate will be given exception. If you tear at the fabric of this society, it will unravel. It is my daughter you are putting at risk."

"A daughter you have never seen," she said sharply.

"A daughter I wished you to raise in my house!" he roared back. Stepping away from the desk, he turned her back on her. Obviously, he trusted her enough to do so. "You are jeopardizing your own children's future."

"This needs to be done. I cannot simply stand by and allow this grave… unfairness just because my child is the one that benefits, when everyone else, my people, are suffering."

"See, you speak like a ruler," he accused.

"I am not."

"You are simply the one to wreak destruction on us all, to then walk away. Is that it?"

There was some truth to the accusation. "There will be a system."

"You mean a council like the one that failed so spectacularly at the citadel. Run by a bunch of ignorant peasants who can't do anything but lament how they couldn't even manage to feed themselves."

"Do not blame them for Voldemort's brutality."

"They did precious little about it."

"We are doing something about it!"

Again he regarded her, now standing across the room. "Then we will be enemies."

Stillness settled on the room, the only sound being the clock on the mantle. "You could choose not to fight me."

"Oh, shall I simply hand my estate and my position over to a bunch of peasants? And what good would that do? Wildersmith is still coming for you, along with everyone else when they finally realize what it is you're doing. They will all come for you, and then what will happen to your orphan son? They will descend on your estate like vultures. He will become the peasant you so wished him to be." His words were cruel and intended to be so. It also didn't go unnoted that he didn't include Charis in this picture of Tabain's demise.

Malfoy knew her well enough to prod her weakness. It had been the only cause of concern when embarking on this—how it would affect her children and their future. It could very well be that she would be undoing the advantages they had in life. But equally, she wanted to build a world where they would thrive, and not by the misery of others.

But if she failed, there would be no one protecting Tabain. Malfoy would protect Charis, but she had no recourse to implore him to protect Tabain too. "I think you understand why I cannot fail," she said. "I will not fail."

Her confidence wasn't quite a solid as she implied. Contingency plans for Tabain would have to be made. Unfortunately, she didn't quite know who she could trust in this regard. Potter and his friends were only here because their ambitions aligned. He had no loyalty to her.

Without her, Tabain would only have the Dowager Lady Nott to protect him, and she had little or no influence if Hermione failed and the purebloods came for her estate. He would be left with nothing. "I cannot fail," she repeated.

"I don't think there is any doubt that you will fail."

"I don't think you understand how motivated we are."

"This isn't the first rebellion to be quelled," Malfoy said in disbelief.

"If you think this is a simple rebellion, then you will be taken by surprise."

"Let me make this clear. In no way will I ever be taken."

"Then don't fight me," she said.

"Unfortunately you were never one to see reason and you wreak destruction because of it. You will destroy your own house, your son's future—even yourself."

Hermione had had enough of this. He was toying with her insecurities, using them as a weapon against her, and they both knew it. "We are coming, and nothing will stop us. We might only be a bunch of peasants to you, but you don't understand how fed up and motivated we are. We've had enough of you and your self-serving dominion."

Placing his hands on the documents on the desk, he leaned toward her. "Next time I come here, I am taking my daughter home."

It was both a treat and a promise. She could see it in his eyes. Sharply, he turned and left, leaving emptiness in his wake.

Hermione sat down in her chair. Malfoy was going to be a problem. He was always a problem. It was done now. They were officially enemies, and he would probably show her little mercy. The contrary part of her brain told her she had just signed her own death warrant and mastered Tabain's downfall. She could not fail at this. There was no back out now; she had to see this through to the very end.

Malfoy's accusations still stung, especially the uncertainty that came with enacting significant change. Things never turned out as rosy as she wanted. A hard-won lesson. But whatever new era she brought in couldn't be any worse than the current one. The purebloods' rule had to be overturned.


	82. Chapter 82

Chapter 82

Every bit of Draco's anger went into the next battle. The messy, grinding melee was exactly that, a vent of fear and frustration. There was nothing good in battle. The good came afterward with the victory, but it was never complete. Battles were hard won and the price was heavy. Today, though, Draco felt betrayed, and he put every bit of his rage into the fight.

The battleground was the same as before, the battle almost feeling like a rerun of the last one—except Wildersmith's forces were a little more tired, and little more hungry. Draco hadn't managed to choke off Wildersmith's supply completely, but the impact was clear.

It would be his victory today, and everyone in the land would know it, including Lady Hermione Nott. Victory wasn't achieved yet, so Draco pushed away any thought of it and focused on the man running at him with his sword raised above his head. It was a reaction of anger and fear rather than good swordsmanship, and it would get the man killed—especially as Draco was still on his horse.

With ease, Draco brought his sword down in an elegant arc, catching the man's side. He stumbled, then crumpled.

These men fought for money or for privilege, or whatever else Wildersmith had promised them. Men would do anything for the betterment of their families. They would be rewarded. Hermione, however, promised them something different, but she was deluded to think she was strong enough to achieve it. This wasn't simply pretty words and lofty promises, she was taking on the whole pureblood class, and they held all the power in this land.

This stance would kill her in the end and these actions were putting her beyond protection. No one was going to cede their power to her. Cause enough trouble and she would have to be removed.

Another man came at him, on horseback this time. It wasn't a man he knew, but this man wasn't some mere peasant. He swung and Draco blocked, the clash of swords making a sharp piercing chime. The anger in the youthful face bared his teeth. This was the son of one of Wildersmith's allies. Maybe it was even Wildersmith's son—one he hadn't introduced to court yet. Few wanted to expose their children to the court while Voldemort had been living. If it was one thing Voldemort understood, it was leverage, and there was no better leverage.

Bringing his horse around, the young man engaged again. Skills showed that he had been trained in battle, but he lacked experience. If he had any magical training, it would be incomplete. While alive, Voldemort had spies everywhere and he would perceive no threat, no challenge as much as the courtiers training their offspring in magic. It is really the older generation that knows magic well, but every single one of them pretended to have forgotten. Perhaps they have forgotten.

It would be unsporting of Draco to use magic. Still, he pulled out his wands and then the boy flying into the crowd behind him, dropping his sword on the way. Letting go of his sword was a mistake he might not survive.

Unconcerned, Draco sought his next target. An enemy soldier stood with his sword raised, ready to clash down on his combatant. Urging his horse forward, Draco slew the man.

"Thank you," the spared victim said from the ground.

"Grab your weapon and fight," Draco said and the man scrambled to his feet. There was gratitude and admiration in the man's eyes, which really was misplaced. Draco'd had no concern for the man personally, was simply offended by the reduction of the overall number of his army. The man didn't see it that way though.

Wildersmith's men were tiring first and they fervor seeped away. They would be called to retreat, which spelled victory for him, unless Wildersmith wanted an all-out slaughter of his own men.

As expected the call came. Draco had won by feeding his men better. It was simple, but Wildersmith had a natural greed that made his always choose cheaper food with less energy. It filtered through to the battle today, but Draco wasn't sure Wildersmith would see that.

In a way, Draco wanted to chase after the retreating men and truly slaughter them. It would end this war quicker, but it would be dishonorable. Voldemort would do it, but Draco knew instinctively that his reign had to be different from Voldemort's. Ruthlessness would be tolerated, but he did not want to set up his rein with dishonor—even if Wildersmith would be perfectly happy to do so.

Wildersmith's filter of greed blinded him to the finer nuances of diplomacy.

The victory was Draco's, but he hadn't won the war, simply the battle. Wildersmith would regroup; he would try to address his weaknesses. The man would thoroughly review this loss and would probably discover his own weaknesses. Purse strings would be pried open and his men better fed next time.

Draco, however, was going to savor this victory by bringing it back to the citadel. He hadn't done enough to claim victory yet, but there was nothing to stop him from reclaiming the citadel from which so many had now fled. Wildersmith would be forced to return as well, or word would spread that he was hiding away on the battlefield in shame.

As much as possible, Draco and his men would claim the citadel, but it was too large to defend from Wildersmith. The man would be forced to claim his place there too. IT may well be that the citadel itself turned into the battleground, but again, that would be dishonorable. It was not how battle was won, but the place would be crawling with assassins before long.

In the meantime, the issue of Hermione would also be addressed. Hopefully, she would stay at her estate, plotting outlandish coups with her misguided men. It would perhaps be better to ensure she did not receive the support she thought she had. Bribery and threats did go a long way, and maybe it was better that her activities were undermined before they really started.

Returning to camp, Draco ordered it packed up, and everything, including the injured, taken back to the citadel, and he was on the road back to the citadel within the hour. The battle had exhausted him and burned all of his energy, but he rode with straight back, refusing to give any indication how tired he was. The battle would now be in politics, until they took to the battlefield again, which Draco suspected they would within a few weeks.

It was mid-afternoon and the train of his army traveled behind him. They would be seen coming for miles, but Draco wasn't sure there was anyone in the citadel to see them.

The guard stood by as they reached the portcullis into Draco's part of the citadel. The guard was another issue to deal with. So far, they had refused to pick sides, but this victory showed them who the likely ruler would be. At some point, they would have to pledge their loyalty.

The courtyard was practically empty, but Pansy was there, smiling and clapping. One of the few who hadn't deserted the citadel. "Well done, my lord," she said with a curtsy. "We heard you were victorious today and Wildersmith had to run with his tail tucked between his legs."

"As he does so well."

"That must smart something wicked," she smiled. "Very impressive, and I am glad to see you returned to the citadel."

"I felt it was time to start making myself comfortable."

Pansy was smiling again. No matter how high the tension rose, Pansy never ran. "Who is still in residence?"

"Very few, but I dare say we will see people return now that you are back."

"Wildersmith will not cede the citadel. He will come eventually."

"Then we must make him uncomfortable. At the end of the day, it is here that you must win, when it comes down to it.

Unfortunately, Wildersmith would refuse to accept this defeat and he would return. Politics was not a game he was a novice at, but the next battle would be very important. Another defeat and people's trust in him would start wavering.

Draco's men had to be ready, and ideally, that would include the full complement of the guard. No one had succeeded in claiming the best and strongest fighting men in the land. They could not stay impartial forever.

Meanwhile, Draco needed to bolster his army, to find more men, more weapons—even more magic. He also needed his allies to commit more resources—food, weapons, horses. If he had enough, he could prepare for the next battle, perhaps even lock Hermione down at her estate too.

"We must celebrate," Pansy said, glee shining out of her eyes. Pansy always thrived on victory—had been his unshakable ally for so very long. But it was another pair of eyes he'd wished to be here congratulating him, but steadfast Pansy was what he had instead. At every turn, Hermione denied him, while Pansy gave her all to the cause.

"Yes," he replied. "We must celebrate this victory."


	83. Chapter 83

Chapter 83

Trudging through the mud, Hermione stepped up on the small knoll around which the people of this village was gathered. She'd never been here before, but the people were hungry, their clothes dirty and worn.

The sad truth was that they would listen to anyone who came with a cartload of potatoes. If was just that she was the only one who had come.

"Farm the land around you," she said. "Farm these fields for your own benefit."

"And who will then protect us when the guard comes?" a man called.

Potter stepped in. "We all have to send a message that we will not be starved. We will not be subdued, and we will not tolerate another liege that pays no heed to our welfare. It is time for us to take our land back."

His zeal was irrepressible, even when a little tact would be more circumspect. "It is also time," Hermione continued more calmly, that we insist a fairer form of governance. Lord Malfoy and Lord Wildersmith are battling each other for who will rule us next, and we do not want to hand over our lives to another pureblood. We will not be subjugated by purebloods, and there is no reason why we should tolerate it."

"We vastly outnumber them," Potter continued. "It is only by our complicity that we allow this."

Hermione wished he would calm the rhetoric at times. "We do outnumber them, and we can choose not to comply with their system."

"How?" the same man challenged. "When they send the guard to cut us down at the merest infraction."

"Then the people of this land must be the ones who give the guard direction, that sets that laws we want enforced. We must stand together and make our voices heard," Hermione said calmly and for once, Potter didn't set in with his heated rhetoric. "And we must show our numbers."

Silence reigned over the group.

"We will not tolerate being imposed on, or used for other people's benefit. These are our villages, our land, and we will not stand by and watch as wealthy lords cart the crop away. So farm this land and thrive by its abundance."

The man grumbled. The fear of the guard was deep and pervasive, leaving Hermione only to guess how Voldemort used them to enforce his rule.

"The guard has agreed not to interfere with our activities. They see us as another challenger for the throne, but we are so much more than that. We want to change the very system that governs, to make the people the power behind the laws that apply to this land."

"Then who will govern us? You?"

"No, a council made up of representatives. Based on numbers. Each village will have representatives dependent on their size. It is a much fairer way of ruling."

"And why would the purebloods put up with this? Both Malfoy and Wildersmith have armies," said a woman with a baby in her arms.

"Because those armies are made up of us. None of us would choose to fight for them if it there was another option."

"They fight for money," another man called. "It gets more loyalty than any lofty ideas."

"Then you must choose," Hermione said, her voice growing louder. "This is the time. Voldemort is dead and there is currently no one on the throne. This is the time when there is a chance for change, so we have to choose. Either money and a future of the same, or we choose a different way of living. Each person must choose. We," she indicated to Potter and the persons who had come with them, "have already chosen and we are now going to fight for that choice. You choose which future you want. You either join us, or you join the pureblood who have starved and oppressed you for years, and hope that they will show you some consideration in the future."

A grumble spread through the crowd because every person here knew that the purebloods had no loyalty to the people who served them. They paid, but not a penny more than they had to.

"Choose for your family's, your children's future. And no one will be allowed to sit on the fence. Choose your side." Alright, increasingly she sounded a little more like Potter every day, but she'd done this speech a number of times now.

"And do what?" a young man said. Hermione could see in his eyes that he had already chosen.

"We're going to march on the citadel. We're going to take the citadel and send a message that we are not going to be ignored. And we will be putting the same choice to the people in their armies that we just put to you. You are either for your own people or against. There is no in between."

Over time, it had become clear that they needed a mission, a purpose, and marching on the citadel was piercing into the very heart of the pureblood aristocracy. From the meeting with Malfoy, she knew Wildersmith would fight, but she wasn't entirely sure what Malfoy would do. He probably would fight. It was the very system he benefited from that she was attacking. But he could step back and let Wildersmith take care of it.

Emotions stung her with the thought—emotions that she refused to examine. Whatever she felt about the father of her daughter was not something that would sway her at this point. This was larger than the both of them.

All along, she had wanted to do this without violence, by appealing to people's better nature, but Malfoy's accusation that she was an idealist and a dreamer had proved true. They would have to show force and if they were smart and scary enough, they could do so with little bloodshed. But change did not come without bloodshed. Voldemort had certainly achieved change by that means. Now it was time to remove the purebloods' rule and they were not going to give it up willingly.

"Good speech," Potter said as they climbed down the knoll. "Our people report that word is spreading ahead of us from village to village. What we really need is the word to spread in Malfoy's and Wildersmith's armies. They are nothing without our people fighting their fights for them."

"Yes," Hermione said as they returned to their horses. The potatoes had been stripped away.

"We also caught a spy," Potter said. "He was lurking around at the back, and no one in the village knew him."

"Release him. Let them spy. Let them fear," Hermione said. "We cannot assume any secrecy in this. Their palm greasing would stretch everywhere we go, so let's not bother hiding what we are doing. Assassins are what we have to worry about."

For all of Potter's fiery speech, he did listen to her when she spoke. She was the one who knew the enemy and how they thought. In that regard, he was largely out of his depth, which was partly why he needed her.

"It is in these villages that they would attempt something. Your estate is too guarded."

"I am aware," Hermione said. The one upside of the people being starved and deprived was that a well-fed and trained soldier stuck out like a sore thumb. Which they would probably realize, so there was a good chance they would pay someone desperate and without scruples to do the deed. There were always people who would do anything for money, even if the people were getting fired up to demand change.

"We should return to the estate," Potter said. "Your reputation precedes you."

Hermione sighed. "We cannot fear assassins. We must guard against them, but I cannot hide. Your role in this has hardly gone unnoticed either."

"My loss would not be as damaging as yours."

Hermione wasn't so sure. Her death at this point may serve to fire people more. Not that she wanted to die, but she hoped both Malfoy and Wildersmith believed that. If Malfoy was to be believed, her death was just about assured. Anyone who knew anything about war feared a martyr.

"Saying that, marching on the citadel will take planning. We need to build the structures we need to act as a group."

The idea of marching on the citadel was terrifying, but it was necessary. What she couldn't wrap her head around just yet was how it could play out. She needed to communicate with Captain Burgess to let him know her plans, and to ensure he still agreed not to interfere. Even if he did, they would still march. It may well be that they ended up fighting the guard in this. When it came down to it, Hermione hoped she would have sufficient numbers that the guard knew they were rendered ineffective.

The one thing she could depend on was that the purebloods already knew her plans. They were probably planning for an attack that very moment, but Malfoy and Wildersmith fighting each other was only to her benefit. There was, of course, the real possibility that they would establish a truce until the threat she posed would be taken care of. Malfoy was pragmatic enough to do so, but what Wildersmith would do was more of a question. It wouldn't do to underestimate him, but he wasn't a man who hid his ambition, instead used brute force. He had been the same in at court, where he used his power to get what he wanted, only being circumspect in challenging Voldemort himself. It was unlikely he would deem circumspection as necessary with her. More likely, he would charge ahead without bothering to make agreements with Malfoy. As a man who had always been wealthy and powerful, he had trouble seeing the limits of that power.


	84. Chapter 84

Chapter 84

The weather didn't seem to want to make up its mind, switching between cold and warm in an endless sequence. Clouds rolled across the vast valley outside the windows to Draco's apartments. It felt like storms were coming, but that might be his disposition. Wildersmith and his army were riding toward the citadel, and Draco wasn't sure what to do about it.

The citadel was a large structure to protect, but whoever held the citadel sent a clear message. It may well be that the now brought the battle here. The problem was that the citadel was such a large structure, it was hard to depend, and served a poor battlefield. But Draco would not lose the citadel.

Guerrilla warfare was not something anyone wanted, so the next battle was coming on the heels of the second. This time, to stop Wildersmith from coming back here.

In all honesty, Draco wasn't sold on the course of action. There was something to be said for the citadel being neutral. It would certainly allow Draco to work on Wildersmith's allies as the man continued to lose battles. The political game could not be ignored because there were now weapons and armies involved. At the end of the day, it was the people of court who would make up their minds as to who the next ruler would be. This war was about displaying their plumage.

A knock on the door distracted him and Draco turned back from the windows to see a missive being laid on his desk by his man of affairs. More spy reports. Whether it was the more direct concern about Wildersmith's approach, or the more distant activities by Hermione, he didn't know until he opened it.

The contents surprised him. Hermione was gathering an army. He knew all about her activities going around every backwater in the land, spreading dissent and malfeasance. This missive, however, was more direct, saying she was actively gathering an army—one about to march.

This changed things. Made them infinitely harder if they now ended up fighting every half-blood and mudblood in the land. It complicated everything.

With a snort, Draco dropped the parchment on his desk and sat down. Hermione made everything complicated. From the very day she had arrived here. She said one thing and did another. Exalted peace while at the same time gathered an army. She gave herself then rejected in the same breath.

But this was more serious than her personal inconsistencies. Hermione was trying to unravel them at their weakest point—undermining the very foundation of their society, refusing to heed a single one of his warnings.

"Lord Wildersmith is coming closer," Fremming said, appearing at the door. Fremming was his lieutenant, the one who implemented the strategy within any battled. "We must prepare to face them."

Draco hesitated for a moment, trying to think through what to do. Hermione was still a few days ride away according to his spies. Going into battle now with armies that were already exhausted from the last battle, would leave few men standing when Hermione arrived.

Was she prepared to fight, though? Really fight? Or was this just a show of force, a display of the numbers they had? Did she come to negotiate with a threat? He would almost bet on that. The last thing Hermione wanted was battle, but he also knew that she refused to back down.

"Give the order and I will have the men ready to engage," Fremming said. Draco could hear the impatience in the man's voice. His lieutenant was a man who loved to battle and also strained against being restricted by orders.

"Prepare, but do not engage. Wildersmith will want to talk first."

The man disappeared and Draco was left to his thoughts again. Now large Hermione's army was remained to be seen. She had that thing no one else promised, a future for the people who felt they should have more. It would be stupid to ignore such a powerful motive, and this fight was now for a much larger objective.

Annoyingly, Captain Burgess had been consistently absent from the citadel. His endorsement and men would be very useful right now, because they would likely need them. The fight could also be such that they would have to unite against her, which was why Draco expected Wildersmith to come with talking in mind.

-0-

On the balcony, Draco could see Wildersmith and his men approaching. They looked like ants down on the fields far below them. The portcullis was, of course, drawn down, blocking any entrance into the citadel. It served only to deter an easy and welcoming entrance to the citadel. There were so many entrances, it was impossible to sufficiently man all of them. Voldemort had been so assured of his own power, he never expected the citadel to be under siege.

There was news of desertion in his ranks. The same had to be true for Wildersmith. News of Hermione's march and activities could not be quelled. It likely spread amongst the lower ranks like wildfire. It had to or she wouldn't be able to form an army. The men were contracted and supervision was being upped.

Draco's men were assembled in neat lines in front of the gatehouse, to show that if Wildersmith wanted to get in, he would be repelled, but as expected a messenger was being sent. Draco could see him riding on a horse towards his own lines.

It took a few minutes to arrived, and the messenger was out of breath when he arrived at Draco's apartments. "Lord Wildersmith wishes to speak."

"Is that so?" Draco said wryly. "Then he must come into the citadel and speak. Tell Fremming to withdraw the troops to inside the courtyard," Draco said to his own trusted messenger.

Taking his time, Draco pulled on one of his heavier jackets and started to descend the endless staircases to the courtyard below.

The clatter of horse hooves on the cobblestones echoed around the wall. Wildersmith streamed in with his men and they all looked exhausted and weary. He must want this very much, willing to cut himself off from the bulk of his men.

"You wish to speak, Wildersmith," Draco said. "I don't see what we possibly have to speak about."

"You know full well what we have to speak about. Your woman is causing trouble and is marching on us as we speak. Or have you not heard?"

Wildersmith had taken to referring to Hermione as his woman, insinuating he should have control over her. It was a barb he had used before. "For our sins, Wildersmith."

"She has an army. Four thousand strong, the word is," Wildersmith said, still not getting down from his horse, enjoying a petty higher position. Still, it was Wildersmith who came here begging with cap in hand.

"So it is said."

"Don't be churlish, man. You know as well as I that we must join forces to defeat her."

"Perhaps I should simply lock you out of the citadel and let her take care of you."

Wildersmith was looking down his broad nose. "You know as well as I that you cannot keep me out."

"But I might enjoy trying."

"Your men are tired—half of them are injured."

"That is a vast overexaggerating, I can assure you."

"So you seek to face me and then her tomorrow. I took you for more intelligent than that."

"Perhaps I simply enjoy hearing you beg to be given entrance into the citadel."

"I don't need your permission—or hers. I suggest we prepare a truce until we have sorted this uprising."

They were dealing with more than an uprising. This was a full-on challenge to their authority, but for some reason Wildersmith wanted to see it as something piddly that could simply be dealt with.

"Together, we can defend the citadel. We must speak with Burgess about defending the perimeter. They have longstanding plans for doing so, I am sure."

"I don't think we can count on Burgess," Draco said.

"What do you mean?"

"His absence speaks volumes."

"Don't be ridiculous. His primary job is to defend the citadel against attack."

"It seems he is rewriting his mandate," Draco said.

"Then he must be fired."

There was something in Wildersmith's authority that showed he truly believed he was superior to the people of this land. Wildersmith would never entertain the thought that he would lose to Hermione and her army of peasants.

"It may not be a time to pick a fight with the guard," Draco said, wondering if it was a mute statement. Were the guard out marching with Hermione? Surely his spies would have reported it if it were true. "But you will have your truce for now." The sad truth was that they needed each other, and for now, they would have to put their challenge for the throne to side. First they had to assure there was a throne to aspire to. "Welcome to the citadel. You and your men."

"We do not need you welcome, Malfoy," Wildersmith stated and finally dismounted. "We must rest and strategize."

"Try to feed your men if you wish for them to fight with strength."

Narrowed eyes regarded him.

"And promise them enough to ensure they do not desert."

"Having trouble keeping control of your troops," Wildersmith accused.

"Don't underestimate how powerful her message is."

"Only a fool would believe her."

"Only a fool would dismiss her," Draco said and walked away. It was arrogance that always got in Wildersmith's way—his primary weakness. Arrogance was fine, but not if it blinded one to the realities. Hermione was a threat and a considerable one, but not insurmountable if they worked together. Still Draco had to keep Wildersmith's propensity to blind himself in check. As useful as that normally was, in this, it was a considerable detriment.

A/N For those interested, I have a free Norse Mythology story, called Rise of Vali, available as part of a boxset. Grab a copy, it will only be free during December. Link in profile. Happy reading.


	85. Chapter 85

Chapter 85

A sea of men stood behind Hermione. She'd never seen so many people in all her life. Technically they weren't all men. There were women too. This was more than some uprising, some revolt. This was a movement. The people here had had enough of the purebloods and their cruelty.

Sadly, though. The pureblood didn't care what the people wished. This wasn't a democracy and they would fight for what was theirs. People like Potter wanted to strip them of their lands and positions, run them off their lands. She just wanted a better governance system, but there was no way of achieving that without dismantling the pureblood power structure.

Sitting on her horse, Hermione tried to look comfortable and confident. In truth, she was neither. Horse riding wasn't a skill she'd developed to any great degree, and nothing about this sat comfortably with her. It was just that Wildersmith and Malfoy left her no other option.

Her horse started walking, as did the others around her, those of the leaders of this army. They had tried to create some semblance of order in the ranks, but they weren't a professional army like the one they were about to face. Mostly they didn't have proper weapons either, but it was surprising what people pulled out of their attics. Even a few magical things that had survived Voldemort's clearing of everything that could have hurt him.

Their numbers were filled with the young and the hold, everyone with an ax to grind against the purebloods and the callous way they ruled.

The progress was small, and there was no doubt that spies had already carried home the news of their approach. There was no possibility of stealth, but maybe that served her purposes.

Unfortunately, numbers were not going to make either of her enemies see reason. They had the citadel and they would defend it.

"We are finally on our way," Potter said, riding up to her. The excitement was clear in his features.

"They won't give up," Hermione said.

"Doesn't matter. We're going to make them."

The problem with Potter is that he didn't really see past the point of victory, whereas she wanted to skip this confrontation and get to the point after, where they would set up a council to rule. Potter just wanted his day on the battlefield. "I guess you are getting your wish."

"Malfoy has let Wildersmith into the citadel without a fight. They are joining forces against us."

"Yes," Hermione said. Malfoy was pragmatic. He would collude with an enemy to tackle a common obstacle. "We will face a united force."

"The citadel is too large to defend. Voldemort built a structure he couldn't defend."

"His means of defense were to destroy any signs of rebellion long before he ever needed to defend the citadel."

"I know full well what his means of defense were. I felt them personally," Potter said sharply.

"Then you were lucky to survive."

The expression on Potter's face was murderous. Whatever lightness had been in this man had been destroyed by years of cruel subjugation. It was perhaps understandable why he wanted his day of retribution, and this battle was it. The first time he'd really had the means to fight back. "My worry is that you will fold," he said after a while. "There are, after all, people that you have dealt and lived with for a long time."

"Then you don't know me all that well. But I do have different motives than you. My interest is in representation of the people, not in vengeance."

Potter remained silent. "Then perhaps you were never really beset by his cruelty."

It was Hermione's turn to snort. "Don't make the assumption that your burdens were worse than others. It comes across as petulant, and shows a remarkable lack of understanding of what life at court was like." He also didn't understand her well if she thought he would cower from his challenge. The truth was that he wasn't capable of creating this on his own. "Your anger blinds you, and that blindness makes you weak. You are not riding to face Voldemort today. Voldemort is dead, he died by trusting the wrong person, but assuming his might was insurmountable. We are about to fight something completely different, but you don't seem to be aware of it, and that makes me nervous."

There was a glowering look in Potter's eyes, and they both knew they were using each other in this thing, but Potter was fighting a ghost, while in reality, they were doing something much more complex.

They continued in silence for a while.

"You think I am foolish," Potter said. "I can't overlook what these people did to us."

Hermione didn't answer. It wasn't for her to say he didn't have right to his feelings. "We are fighting for the future here, not for the past. This is for creating a just society, a level playing field. We are not here to punish."

Potter snorted loudly. "You are too much of an idealist." It were the exact same words Malfoy had used before.

"Yet I am the one who these people ride behind. Don't forget that. These people are not interested in your retribution."

"If you speak to any one of them, they'll tell you a different story."

"Perhaps, but their actions speak differently."

With a sharp look, Potter rode away, leaving Hermione to wonder what she had started. There was a chance her quest would be overtaken by others. That was also something she had faced before, but she was not so easily trampled on.

As they slowly marched onward, a row of men on horses stood waiting across the road. It was the guard and there was a dozen of them. They were clearly here to speak to her, although a dozen men could hardly take on the army behind her. As skilled as they were, they could certainly do a great deal of damage. A bunch of farmers with their pitchforks would struggle to take one of these men down. But at some point, sheer numbers overtook skill.

"Captain Bergen," she said and stopped.

"Lady Nott," Bergen said, his hooded eyes traveling across the scene behind her. "So you are riding for the citadel."

"As you see."

She had no idea why he was here and why he wished to speak to her. Was it to warn her off this?

"You will face the combined forces of Wildersmith and Malfoy when you reach the citadel," he said.

"So I understand. We are numerous."

The captain said nothing. An impatient horse threw his head up and down.

"You are traveling on my roads."

"We believe these roads belong to the people, as does the means of governance. Who is it that you guard these roads on behalf of?"

"That remains to be determined."

"Yes, it does," she said. "Now we are marching on the citadel, and we will take it." She spoke calmly without a hint of doubt in her voice. If she really had any doubts, she couldn't say. It wasn't something she was questioning. This had to happen. It was the only way of achieving what they had to do. "What future do you want, Captain Bergen."

"It is not my place to say."

"As you say. It is not your place to say. We are asserting it is the people's place to say, and that these roads belong to the people."

She looked him in the eye, trying to determine what was going on behind them. There was messiness in whatever positions he chose to take, and him throwing the guard in on either side would have a marked impact.

"We will not join you in this fight," he said as if reading her thoughts. "But we will not join this fight in any capacity either. It is not our place."

"As stance I can respect." It must have been difficult to be in his position and determine not to be a political pawn. In a way, they would lose authority if they threw themselves in with the people. "Then we must continue in our march."

"If you insist," he said, not budging as she rode past him, and her army streamed between the horses of the guard. She suspected Captain Bergen wanted the people to see that he wasn't standing against him. It was a politically astute move, and he shouldn't be underestimated in that regard. The truth was that he thought they had a chance to win and was bolstering his position without overtly picking a side.

They marched endlessly until the skyline of the citadel came into view. The punishment cages came into view, bleached skeletons still littering the bottoms. It had been Voldemort's way of warning people coming to the citadel. "Tear them down," she ordered and a group of men went to do so.

"You sure you don't want to put Wildersmith or Malfoy in there?" Potter asked. "Might be a suitable place for them. I am sure they would enjoy the time together." There was lightness in his voice, but Hermione couldn't feel amused by it.

"I am sure we don't want a reign like the one that has been."

"Enemies must be dealt with." His voice as more serious this time.

A/N If anyone had trouble with the link to the boxset with Rise of Vali, I have reset it, and included the address of the place to download it.


	86. Chapter 86

Chapter 86

Hermione's army was vast. They were camped down in the valley below and Draco could see them from his apartments.

"Your former lover has come to chase you down," Pansy said behind him. "I have to say she takes the cake."

"Make no mistake, she is here to destroy us."

"What are a bunch of field=hands going to do?"

"Don't underestimate the intentions of some of them. You, particularly, don't want to be here when they breach the walls."

"If they breach the walls," she said. "I know you will stop them. Let's not forget she wishes to utterly destroy us and tear down everything we have. They'll take our very lands."

"I haven't forgotten."

"You must fight for us. You can't just let her come in here and run roughshod over us. These people will tear us apart if you give them a chance to. Don't ever forget that. They have no love for us, and they'll have no mercy."

"You should go back to your estate and protect it as best you can."

"We are better off here where there are walls to protect us."

"We are not safe here," Draco said ominously. "Even the guard have deserted us in case you didn't notice."

"Do you see them in her camp?"

"No."

"Then they haven't deserted us. If not you, Wildersmith will not show her any mercy. He means to kill her, and you should hold the same ambition."

Draco didn't answer. He didn't want her dead, but she had to be stopped. Wildersmith had no qualms and maybe Draco should simply let him get on with it. Then it would be out of his hands, but he knew that wasn't true, and he hated that he was backing off from something that needed doing. Hermione was the one who had made herself an enemy, and he couldn't simply stand by and give her leeway to do that. it would be an important message that a lot of people would observe—and think him weak as a result.

Down in the courtyard, the troops were preparing for battle, sharpening weapons and mending armor. A lot of blood would be spilt, but it was better to bring the battle to her than to have them come into the citadel, because it was too vast to protect. If they tried, they would find a weakness and seep inside. No one wanted guerrilla warfare.

Tearing himself away from the sight, he walked over to the table where his weapons lay, the sharp sword in its scabbard. Another battle to fight, but he didn't have the anticipation with this as he did fighting Wildermsith. The people below in the valley weren't soldiers, and neither was Hermione. How she'd assumed she would lead people into battle, he didn't know, but Hermione never backed down from anything she wanted. Somehow she always managed to justify her actions to herself, saying it was for the greater good.

"Wildersmith sees this as a mere distraction that needs to be taken care of," Pansy continued. She had obviously spoken with him. "One battle and the will fold. Maybe he is right. The sight of our armies rushing toward them will have them all soiling their pants. They'll turn tail and run."

Pansy, like Wildersmith and most other purebloods, assumed the peasants were weak-willed and cowardly. Draco suspected it would be more of a fight.

-0-

Riding at the head, Draco headed out through the portcullis. There was always a nervous energy before a battle. It was also unlike any battle he'd known. There was an unknown element as they weren't fighting soldiers with a general who never been in battle. It would be easy to assume it would be a slaughter.

Further down the citadel, he saw Wildersmith emerging with his army, ants streaming out of their burrow. Two armies against one weak but numerous one. Their collective journeys here had been long and fraught. A great deal would be decided today. A great deal.

The air was cold and fresh, soon to be soiled by the smell of war, blood and sweat. Fear had its own scent too.

They rode to the east, declaring the battlefield before them. It would be in view of the citadel, so anyone in residence would be able to see it unfold. Wildersmith's men were closer to the citadel and Draco's further away. Being two armies they were going to struggle to act as one.

As he watched, Draco identified the two commanders that conveyed Wildersmith's commands. Wildersmith tended to stay back, away from the fray. There was that inherent cowardice in him, and it wasn't something you could hide. Quite a few of his uniform were scattered in the enemies ranks. There were clearly defections.

A part of him wanted to take Hermione alive. It would solve a great number of things if he could simply take her hostage. Wildersmith would want to kill her, probably very publically, but that wasn't going to be a problem. Making a martyr of her at this point wasn't going to serve the pureblood well, even if many would find her death very satisfying.

As they settled into their positions, a silence fell for a moment as everyone anticipated the start to battle. Adrenalin flowed, heightening senses and strength. Draco's horse was impatient, expecting a burst of action that would signify the start.

Hermione's side broke first. The ragged men started running with their pitchforks and sickles, a wave of men rushing forward. Wildersmith gave him command and his men rushed to meet them. Draco followed, unleashing his forces. They met with a roar of sound and the screams started.

Surveying the battle for a moment, he noted that Hermione was well defended. Wildersmith hung back like normal. Finally Draco urged his horse forward. From his elevated position, he had a natural advantage and a long reach. He only cut down people who went for him. They all knew who he was and it would be a point of honor to cut him down. Unfortunately for them, his skill was well beyond theirs—a skillset some men didn't think would disadvantage them. They learned a fatal lesson.

Hermione wore armor and the loose curls of her hair were wild. She made a good symbol for these people—beautiful, strong and determined. It was almost as if they had been waiting for her and now she was here. She was also too protected to succumb in this battle. It was, however, Wildersmith's number one objective.

The melee continued, more men succumbing to injuries. This was going to be a messy battle. "Take a third and flank to the south," Draco told one of his commanders. It would be interesting to see how Hermione reacted to that. His commander rode away to organize his instructions. A part of his forces were going to come at Hermione's army from the side. They would either hold or they would be cleaved in two, weakening them.

Draco rode forward and engaged, hacking and slashing until his arm tired. Battle tired everyone quickly, and that suited Hermione well, because her men, for what they lacked in skill, they made up for in stamina. They were used to working long and hard, while the trained soldiers, for all their training, were more used to working in high energy spurts.

They had to do something before this battleground to a halt, or worse, turned in Hermione's favor. Her men fought with zeal and rage. They died in droves, but there were more to replace them. It was time to act.

Turning his horse around, Draco rode back and away from the battle. His sword was bloodied, leaving a trail behind him. Looking back, he observed the battlefield and saw part of him army gather to execute the flanking maneuver. He wanted to see how Hermione would react to this challenge, but first, he wanted to deal with Wildersmith who stood at the very back of the battlefield.

"What are your men doing?" he demanded, riding forward as Draco approached. His horse looked rested and his gear unused. The man had probably never used his sword. Or perhaps it had been. Wildersmith had done his fair share of punishments for Voldemort, so he wasn't entirely unused to battle, but then, as now, he probably sat at the back, far from risk.

"Flanking," Draco said.

"You should have told me," Wildersmith replied tartly, annoyance clear in his voice. "I could have moved on the northern side as well. We could have gotten them from three sides. How are we supposed to get anything done if you move around completely on your own? No notice at all. A wasted opportunity."

"How indeed," Draco said, bringing his sword up and ramming it through Wildersmith's chest. The man stared at him in disbelief, his mouth opening and closing as if he couldn't get a sound out. He looked down at the sword in his chest and then up again, to eventually slide gracefully and slowly down the far side of his horse, finally dropping heavily to the ground. "You take orders from me now," Draco roared at Wildersmith's two commanders, who stood staring with open mouths. "There will be no more split orders. Take a third of your men and flank from the North."

If things went well, they could cut off a good portion of Hermione's men. And Draco had managed to finally take care of the pest that was Wildersmith. How the man hadn't seen it coming, Draco didn't know. He was the liege now and it was time to claim his throne, and sort this challenge from his lover and her people. This made things much simpler. It was just him and her now.


	87. Chapter 87

Chapter 87

The battle was horrific. It was the only way Hermione could describe it. She didn't participate as such, being kept toward the back. At times, she simply wanted to flee, unable to take the horrid sights, but they turned to her for guidance. And when the enemy started coming from the south in a flanking move, she had to direct them.

Prior to coming, she'd known this was what would happen, but it was still horrible beyond anything. She'd read every book of battle strategy and tactics she would get her hand on, and she saw what the enemy was doing, and she retreated her men as they tried to flank her on both sides.

At one point, she got a glimpse of Malfoy sitting on his black horse. He rode out with the men and fought, but then she'd heard about that from his battles against Wildersmith. One of his deserting soldiers told her all about his tactics on the field, so she knew what he tended to do.

She managed to keep her men together. I had ceded territory, but they were strong enough to push back as a group. Their numbers were their strength, and when they moved as a unit, the enemy was forced to move back.

The battle was coming to an end. All energy had been expelled. Hermione didn't dare think what the damages were. There were bodies on the ground, endless numbers of them.

How could this be worth it, she wondered. What had they achieved here? Logically she knew they had to unseat the purebloods—who were never going to give up power willingly. They had to be brought down, at least substantially weakened. A clear sign of weakness and people would start seeing them as weak—as defeatable. Then things would slide out of their hands. It was the reason this battle was necessary. The people of the land needed to know they could stand up to the purebloods, and they could do so successfully.

Hermione was gaining ground, but she was doing so as her men were getting sloppy due to exhaustion. The question was at what point did they stop? Could they push the purebloods to the point of surrender? The books said to regroup and attack again, but it felt as though victory was close. That was a misnomer. It felt close, but she could well be giving gains away as her men exhausted. Best to end the battle on a high note, to take the gains and let that news spread across the land. She had the upper hand.

Or should she pull back and let the purebloods exhaust themselves? That was called a Pyrrhic victory. They would technically win the battle, but they would be weakened ahead of the next one. It was a question of whether she could afford the news to spread that they had given territory.

The best thing to do was to hold her territory. They wouldn't advance, but they would hold. Was it the wrong tactic? Would the skill of Malfoy and Wildersmith's men devastate her lines? They had to hold; the men had to use the last of their strength to hold the line, because they couldn't afford for a retreat to be seen as a defeat.

She gave the order, and her men drew back and held steady, defending only when attacked. It conserved their energy, pushing back only when a point in their line was attacked. Those attacks grew shorter in duration and less often. The enemy was exhausted, and eventually the fighting just ceased. This was the end of the battle. Neither had won, but she had stood her ground. They had stood up to the purebloods and they hadn't been pushed back. They'd held. It was as good an outcome as they could hope for under the circumstances.

Now her mind could return to the horror around her. For a while, she had pushed it away, homing in on what she needed to do, and which of the range of tactics she had studied she would deploy. In truth, she hadn't been sure she could pull off any of it, but somehow she had managed. She hated everything about this, but knew it was necessary. Peaceful resistance would only have seen them partitioned and slaughtered. They didn't have any leverage over the purebloods, except their labor, and they could never organize enough to be more powerful than the punishment exacted on them. This war had to be done.

Was it cowardly to not want to face the aftermath? Yes. She wouldn't skulk away. Men had died because they believed she could free their families.

Wildersmith and Malfoy's forces were retreating, gathering their dead. Why had they died? Paid or threatened. Some of them perhaps prospered under the reign of the purebloods, but Hermione doubted it. The pureblood didn't have to share. They had the power, except when the people stood up like this and fought—en masse. It was the only viable strategy they had.

Recognition stirred in her as she surveyed the damage. Potter walked toward her. He was bloodied and tired, having been in the middle of the fray. "We held," he said as he came to a stop. "Next time we march to the walls. No more of this refined battle. We march on the citadel." Potter always wanted the spectacular. His voice had a shaky quality from exertion and adrenalin.

"The citadel is too vast to lay siege," Hermione said. "We must fight like this again. We don't have battering rams and trebuchets to batter the walls. This is how we will win."

"How is this a victory?"

"We held the line. We stood up to them. People will see it is possible."

"It's not enough," Potter said. "We have to take the citadel, or else we will battle out here every day. _They_ return to the citadel and sleep in their own luxurious apartments, depending on the men they pay to fight their battles for them."

"A defeat on the battlefield will mean a victory."

"It isn't much of a victory."

"We still can't lay siege to the citadel. It's miles of walls."

"We only have to attack on one side."

"And have them fire endless arrows down on us. We would lose number every day and they wouldn't. They would be strong when we finally break through and we would be weak. Their men are trained, ours are farmers. This form of battle suits us. We can hold our own."

"This isn't a defeat," he said, swinging his hand around to the scene in front of them.

"You are too impatient," Hermione said curtly. "We can't just rush in and spend our resources without carefully planning it."

"You seem to think planning will solve everything. It is only a true show of force that will end this. We have waited years for this." The frustration was clear in his voice. "We lost countless men today and what did we achieve?"

"We sent a powerful message," Hermione said.

"A message?" Potter said disbelievingly. "We need more than a bloody message."

Hermione sighed. Potter always seemed to think that if they decided to, they could simply roust the purebloods, that the power of the people was undefeatable if they only decided to do it. This stalemate they had reached wasn't enough. It was always black and white in his mind—there was never any gray. "If we could not defeat them resoundedly on the battlefield, we certainly can't in a siege? We will battle again in a few days, and we have to stay strong, at least hold our ground. It was a good outcome today. Perhaps not the spectacular result you wanted."

Potter snorted. In a way, she just wanted to throw up her hands and say 'You do it then,' but she knew it would end badly, and these men deserved better than that when they were lying down their lives for this.

"You play too much politics," he accused.

A man came running up and they both turned to him, wary of the intrusion. "There is talk that Lord Malfoy killed Lord Wildersmith. Outright killed him. Rode up and ran him through with a sword."

There was silence for a minute. "That doesn't surprise me," Hermione finally said. So, Wildersmith was gone, and now there was only Malfoy. "When did this happen?"

"It seems just after he ordered the attack from the south."

This meant that Malfoy had ordered both his own and Wildersmith's men to perform the flanking from the north that she had successfully defended against. "Wildersmith's men are accepting orders from Malfoy. It is now a unified army." It was the last thing she wanted to hear. The discord and confusion between the two armies served her well. Malfoy was always more considered and cunning, which meant they had to consider their step even more than they had.

The last thing they needed was some ill-advised siege, but she did understand Potter's frustration. This had to all seem like game playing to him, and in a sense it was, but that game had more importance then he gave it credit for.

"He will be aiming for victory in the next battle," she said. "He did this to get rid of his own weaknesses. They will act like one unit next time, and Malfoy is skilled at directing an army."

Even Potter was quiet now and she was glad not to have another round of his inflamed rhetoric. He had a habit of overestimating their capabilities. "We must be clever," she said. They had to find a tactic to use against him, something that used his the very strength he depended on now that he was addressing his weaknesses.


	88. Chapter 88

Chapter 88

The ride back to the citadel didn't take long. When Draco had seen Hermione hunkering down to hold her line, he knew it wouldn't be worth continuing. She would use her men's superior stamina to further weaken him, and it wouldn't serve him in the long-term.

She had more dead and injured than him, but her numbers were far more. They had to get on with this next battle before more joined. There had been no victory in this battle, but it had been a victory for her. What he had to fear now was her further inflaming the people, which she would do to her advantage. Hence he shouldn't wait too long for this next battle. They had to be beaten back at the very least. His aim was a true defeat, her forces cut up and surrounded.

The men needed to be imprisoned, the leaders executed. Control would be re-established and his reign could start. It was unbelievable that Wildersmith had stopped seeing him as an enemy. Necessary co-operation didn't make them allies. In fact, both of them being there had been a weakness. That was rectified now.

Giving his horse over to a stable boy, he walked up the flights of stairs to his apartments where Pansy was waiting. She gracefully swayed into a deep curtsy. "My liege," she said with a smile on her face. "That was inspired. Poor Wildersmith sank like a sack of potatoes. I am sure his horse was much relieved."

Unbuckling his scabbard, he placed it on the table. It seemed out of place in the cleanliness of his apartment. So did he.

"We must celebrate this victory," Pansy said. "Perhaps a ball?"

"A dinner, I think," Draco said.

"Of course. You must be exhausted. I will organize a dinner if you will permit me."

"I would be honored," Draco said. "Now I must bathe and rest."

"I never had any doubt," she said and her skirt rustled as she turned to leave. Pansy refused to acknowledge the threat that the peasants posed. Technically, he had claimed the throne, but he hadn't eliminated the threat. That still needed to be done.

Walking to his private quarters, he let his elf assist him as he divested his bloody and filthy garments. War was not a clean business, but he didn't feel uncomfortable with it until it started to dry. Then it grew distinctly uncomfortable and the smell became overpowering.

A bath waited for him and but he stood by and washed the worst of the filth from his body before stepping into the warm water. The noise of battle still rang in his ears in the silence of his bathroom, where only the occasional drip of water echoed off the wall.

Where was Hermione right now, he wondered. No doubt still walking the battlefield, surveying the damage. She would be devastated by it all, each death. It would prey on her mind and on her resolve. Her sense of justice had carried her this far, but he wasn't sure it would hold through the carnage that lay on the battlefield.

"I need to speak to Terry Boot," he said to the elf, who quickly disappeared to perform his quest. Left on his own, he scrubbed his limbs and then rose to pull on his dressing gown. The filthy clothes were gone and but the scent of blood took longer to dissipate. Still wet, he padded out to the lounge and sat down close to the fire.

Terry appeared at the door, looking drab and overcome as he always did. "My lord," he said with a bow.

"The contest for the throne has been settled," Draco stated.

"I understand Lord Wildersmith has fallen."

"There will be a dinner tonight to celebrate. Pansy is organizing it. I need to reward the men," he said. "The crown needs to reward the men."

"Which men?" Terry said with confusion.

"The men who fought today. They will need extra compensation for their loyalty and service."

"My lord," Terry went to argue.

"I think you'll have to address me as 'my liege,' now," Draco said coldly. "In a few days, those men will have to defend the crown against the peasants."

"Is Lady Nott not a contestant—" Theo started.

"Lady Nott seeks to destroy everything. Do not delude yourself into thinking she is a contestant for the throne. The matter of the throne has been settled. Now we much defend against the threat she poses, so you will open up those coffers and dole out reward to the men who will fight to defend out of our positions. Do you understand, Mr. Boot?"

"Yes, my liege," he said with a bow. "The coffers are not what they… "

"I don't see why every pureblood family in the last should not contribute to the defense of our way of life. Draft a requisition."

"As you say." Terry bowed again and retreated. Perhaps it was time to get a better manager of the crown concerns.

-0-

Pansy had picked a good hall for the supper—one of the mirrored halls. The lights of the candles were amplified endlessly through the mirrors, and the table was elegantly laid out. It was almost like the old days, except Voldemort was gone and he was now in his place.

He'd spent so much time trying to get here, he hadn't had much chance to plan how he would be when he got here—even if getting here had never been in doubt.

Hermione was, of course, the thorn in his side. He didn't want her dead—she was his child's mother, after all, so it was a matter of bringing her back into the fold. Once her revolt was defeated, that would naturally happen. Her stance did require punishment. It wouldn't do for any of the people here, as few as they were, all smiling at him now, to think that he was a lightweight and that challenges to him went unpunished. It did put him in a bit of a pickle.

The next time they would face off, he would prevail. She had superior numbers and it hadn't gone unnoticed that there were a few of his uniforms in her ranks. Things simply had to get tougher for her.

"Congratulations, Lord Malfoy," Lucas Bridgetonne said, dressed in his finest silk robes.

"Lucas. I didn't know you were in residence."

"I came as soon as I heard of your victory."

Was that right? As Wildersmith's strongest ally, he was now scrambling to position himself in the new court. In a way, Draco wished he could get rid of the whole lot of them, but the old adage was true: keep your friends close and your enemies closer. It was the underlying point of court: a way of keeping the people who could do you damage close and distracted. Voldemort had done it by having them all turn on each other.

Draco wanted peace, or perhaps that was what Hermione wanted. A part of him wanted his new court to be tolerable to her and he'd be lying if he denied it. "It is good to see you healthy and well."

Lucas bowed his head. "And an honor to be here celebrating with you." Lucas Bridgetonne never spoke to him so deferentially, but that was perhaps the new way of things. Along with himself and Hermione, he was one of the more substantial landowners.

Pansy's hand slipped into the crook of his elbow. "Everyone who is in the citadel is here to honor you," she said. "Their newfound respect is… admirable." She had obviously observed the exchange between him and Bridgetonne. "Word of your victory has spread. I suppose they will all come running now. I suppose that woman will make a nuisance of herself until you finally sort her out."

The problem was that everyone expected him to deal to Hermione. Pansy for perhaps more personal reasons. Out of the people here, she was the one who understood he would have qualms about it. Pansy had always understood him. It had been the basis of their friendship. Although she wanted more. Technically, she was still married, but that was a small impediment in her eyes. So yes, Pansy wanted Hermione dealt with, ideally through a public execution.

There was an urge in Pansy to be ruthless with her rivals. That ruthlessness had been another thing they had in common. And he did understand where she was coming from. Hermione _should_ be dealt with harshly—yet he was searching for an alternative.

Why did Hermione have to make this so hard? She had fought him every step of the way, in between periods when she didn't fight him—when they toyed with each other and… loved. They could have done this together. She would be at his side now, but she chose not to be. The sting of the rejection hurt.

"Champagne," Pansy called. "We are here to celebrate our new liege, Lord Malfoy. Long let him rule."

Everyone raised their glasses. A few were genuinely happy, finally putting to end the uncertainty. Others were wary, worried about what kind of ruler they would be, and for their position in the new hierarchy.

Glasses were handed out and the toast was made. It was time to build his court and his sovereignty. The land would know peace and all the problems would be attended to. One in particular.


	89. Chapter 89

Chapter 89

The roof of her tent moved as Hermione woke up. The wind had picked up. Dragging herself out of its warm comfort, she faced the stark cold as she dressed. Her dreams had not been peaceful, but at the end of the night, she had found herself in Lovegood's old rooms with the books, papers and things stacked up against the walls. It was all gone now, but she had felt safe there—able to hide from the clawing discomfort that threatened outside the door. It had brought her a modicum of peace in her sleep, but now it was time to face the day.

It was two days since the battle and they were starting to prepare for the next. The camp was very much subdued, but awake. The injured lay on stretchers over by the field hospital. Those gravely injured had already died, and left were those that would recuperate. The dead had already been carried away.

In battle, it was important to clear away the past and focus on the next one. Hermione tried to stick to that, or she would get lost in the suffering of the families, whose lost members were returning to them. Heaviness pressed down on her, but she couldn't allow it to.

Higgins approached her. He was an elderly man who had led armies of old, left alone by Voldemort due to his age. There was so much knowledge locked inside his head though. "A word," he said.

"Of course," Hermione said and returned inside her tent where their planning table was.

"A dozen carts of bread and meat have been attacked," he said and Hermione bit her lips together.

"Malfoy is attacking our supply lines," she said.

"Yes. He seeks to weaken us. This will weaken us. We cannot fight on empty stomachs."

Why hadn't she foreseen this? It seemed logical now. "We must send troops to watch the supply lines."

"Our troops need to rest, but yes, we need to ensure this doesn't happen again."

Hermione sat down heavily in her chair, wondering if she could ask Captain Bergen to guard her supplies. Technically they were traveling on his roads, but she also knew his policy to stay clear of the challenge for the throne—or rather for the governance of this land.

Also, the horrid truth was that her own stores were dangerously low. There was a risk that they would run out of food before this war was won. That would weaken them more than anything else. They might lose this fight for this country simply by lack of food. "Raid Wildersmith's stores. Malfoy has taken his army, so it can't be that well defended. Malfoy's men might not lay in wait for a supply train coming from there."

"As you wish," the man said, walking away on his stiff knees.

In fact, two could play that game. The supply to the citadel could as easily be cut. The citadel stores could keep them going for quite some while, but eventually they would run out. She could just cut the citadel off and wait until they succumbed.

They would battle again before that happened. Ideally, she never wanted to go through that again. The losses still weighed heavily on her, and always would. She took it worse than the men here. They believed in their mission; they fought for their very futures and families. It wasn't for her to be squeamish. This wasn't about her, after all. She was simply the leader they had chosen. She couldn't forget that.

Malfoy was trying to weaken her, playing outside the rules. It wasn't something he had exclusive right to. She could do the same, but cutting off the supply lines to the citadel would take too long to be effective. Instead, she had to hit him where it hurt.

Leaning her head on her hand, she watched the camp outside. Potter walked past, clapping a man on the shoulder before sitting down with them. He was a good man. He'd fought bravely. When it had come down to it, his passion and bluster had been more than hot wind. The men were also starting to listen more and more. In the past, he'd been dismissed, his rhetoric being seen as the unrealistic ranting of an idealistic dreamer—which was exactly what Malfoy had accused her of being.

"Potter," she called and he looked back at her. Putting his breakfast to side, he came over to her tent.

"I think we can make use of that passion of yours to undermine the purebloods, but it would be dangerous. Very dangerous."

Tilting his head to the side, he regarded her. He didn't entirely trust her, which wasn't surprising. They had butted heads a lot. "What have you got in mind?"

"We've got a few defectors sneaking out of the citadel."

"A fair few."

"Most of the people facing us are fighting people from their own villages, their own families. I bet there is quite a number who could be convinced to defect given the chance to rile them up."

"You want me to go do that? That would be inside the citadel."

"It is up to you. If they catch you, they'll hang you."

"I'll do it," he said without a moment's hesitation.

"Are you sure? You can't go in there raging. You have to be a bit more subtle."

"It shouldn't be hard to find a way in. We've got plenty of uniforms. I'll see if some of the other want to go back in and help. They would know who to approach."

"Be careful."

"I'll remind them all they're fighting on the wrong side."

"Be stealthy."

"None of the people fighting for Malfoy actually want him to win. It's his gold they're fighting for, against their own brothers."

"Yeah," Hermione said.

Jogging off, he could barely hide his excitement. His passion could be like an incendiary bomb inside Malfoy's army. It was risky sending him in there. There was a strong chance he would get caught and then she would always know that she had suggested this, and it had ended badly for him. Still, he was obviously more than willing to do it. In winning this war, she couldn't be squeamish, especially if this action would divert them from squarish off in another battle—or at least one where she was weak and he was strong. If he was going to attack her, she was going to attack him back.

It didn't take long to gather a group to sneak into the citadel and cause trouble. Potter could certainly inspire some to go on what could be a suicide mission. It was that very rhetoric that she was turning on Malfoy. Who could be proud of the gold in their pockets in face of Potter's passion for change. They would in essence be fighting again the good of their own people.

A few hours later, Potter returned. "We're ready to go. We're going in after dark. One of the men has a brother manning one of the gates. They should keep quiet about our entrance into the citadel."

"I don't need to tell you that the place is vast. And don't approach Terry Boot. He's a half-blood, but he's too invested in the current structure. I think he actually believes the pureblood propaganda that purebloods are natural rulers."

"We'll deliver some hard truths," Potter said with a smile.

"Oh, and maybe we should keep this brother on the gate for now, rather than out here, in case we need to get in again."

"No problem," Potter said with a nod before he ran off, clearly excited about his new mission. Well, he'd been looking to do some damage to the purebloods. Here was his chance—something he could do better than anyone else. With a sigh, she hoped he didn't do anything stupid. He wasn't stupid, just very, very passionate. It blinded him sometimes, but now was the time to deploy that passion.

Was this madness? Maybe, but if he did it right, this could be devastating for Malfoy. They had the moral high ground, particularly when it came to the people they were actually facing on the battlefield, who couldn't be fighting with much gusto. Who wanted to fight for the subjugation of their own families? There were a few for whom gold would be more important, but there would be many who would grab the chance to defect if it were presented to them.

Well, they were presenting. Let them see how many took the opportunity.

They rode eastward in the darkness. Hermione watched them through her spyglass. The moon was out, so they could be seen, but only if you knew they were there. A band of five men, all wearing Malfoy's uniform.

From a distance, she watched them approach a gate, watched them mill for a while and then disappear inside the wall. For all she knew, they could be slaughtered that very moment, but she didn't think so. It would be a cold heart that would kill someone's brother in front of them. And the cold heart was probably up there in his apartment, dining and plotting.

If she had her way, they would not be facing each other again on the battlefield. It was perhaps unavailable, but it wasn't an experience she wanted to go through again. And in the thick of it, Draco had gotten rid of one of his enemies. Now there was only one left—her. She was the only thing that stood in his way. Would he be callous enough to send assassins? A shiver broke up through her spine. She didn't know how to answer that.


	90. Chapter 90

Chapter 90

In the dead of night, Draco snuck out of the citadel, two of his most skilled mercenaries with him. Frost had settled on the land as they walked in silence. The occasional screech from some nocturnal bird.

It took some half hour walk to reach the forest in which she was camped. All was quiet, with only the general noise of sleeping men, a few drunk stragglers moving around. No one would notice a few dark figures moving around. Only a marching army would rouse a response.

The dying embers from fires created a mellow glow to the tents of Hermione's camp. "Go invite her to meet," he said to one of the men. It was a risk coming here, but he wanted to speak to her.

The mercenary disappeared into the woods around the camp. They were good that way, disappeared when they wanted to.

Cold was creeping into his clothes and he moved around slightly in the glade where they waited. Steam condensed with their breaths. When had it gotten so cold again?

It took about half an hour before she arrived. In his gut, he'd know she'd be too curious to not take the opportunity to speak. She appeared wearing a long cloak, her hair free-flowing. Beautiful as always, particularly in the moonlight.

Two men walked behind her. Not entirely willing to come without guards. Then again, he couldn't entirely blame her. He couldn't even assure himself he wouldn't take her hostage. Still, she had come.

"I can rouse my army and take you captive."

"That would hardly be sporting."

"You put a lot of stock in my sense of fair play."

"Has it ever seen me wrong?"

"What do you want?"

"I came to speak about a truce. Although I don't mind battle," he said, knowing this past battle would weigh heavily on her conscience, "it is unnecessary."

"A truce," she said with lack of enthusiasm. "When we are so diametrically opposed, how could we possibly have a truce?"

"It is always possible. Especially as I am weakening you," he said.

"And I am weakening you."

Reports had reached him about some of her men causing trouble inside the citadel. Of course he had ordered them found, but they were well hidden. The loyalty of the men was always something he was wary of, but the generous payment kept the bulk of them content. Some were slipping away in the night, joining the enemy.

"We're to face off in a few days. Your men are weak and hungry."

"But their hearts are strong."

"It doesn't have to be like this, Hermione," he said. Taking a step forward, her guard did the same. "We can end this now before more blood is shed. Scores of families without their fathers and sons."

"You don't seem to understand that this isn't about me. I am simply a chosen leader, but this was never about me or what I wanted. I just happen to agree with what they want."

"So you wish to destroy everything? That is the only outcome that is tolerable to you?"

No answer came from her.

His hands rested on the hilt of his sword, not threatening, but more as a comfortable place to rest. "Tell me what you want and we can find some way of achieving it."

"Like I said, this isn't about what I want. The people here see you as the problem. It wasn't so defined until you killed Wildersmith, but now you are seen as the enemy they must defeat."

"It's not good statesmanship if you give your enemy no way to bargain. There are ways to avoid further fighting, but you have to be willing to compromise."

Her eyes flashed as she shifted, hard to read in the darkness.

"In a few days, we will fight," he continued, "and I will win. I have access to the full coffers of the crown to reward my men and this is now a fight to protect the crown."

"The guard don't see it that way."

"They will. They are dutybound to protect the crown. It doesn't matter. Their loyalty is not with your, or they would be fighting with you. As long as they stay out of this, I will win."

"Is that why you came here? To tell me you're going to win."

"I came to negotiate, but you are the one who is utterly unbending. You are the one who won't avoid bloodshed, and don't blame it on other people. As a leader, you are responsible for leading."

"I suppose you have named yourself liege now?" she asked.

"Yes. The nobles are returning to court as we speak, and many are bringing more men with them. Things will get worse for you when they arrive. I am trying to save you."

"I don't need your rescuing."

"And what about when I win?"

" _If_ you win. That be the case then you will do what you must. I have no illusions about that."

"Never one to bend, are you?" he said, disappointment flaring in him. Why couldn't she just compromise a little, bend a little. It would serve them all.

"Then you give me no choice but to prepare for battle. My men are strong and well fed."

"Mine aren't so bad either. We have found ways around your sabotage."

"Whereas your attempts are too feeble for me to bother with," he said dryly. That wasn't true. He had men chasing the infiltrators that very moment, but she didn't need to know it was doing some harm.

In general, he was disappointed in her, but in his heart, he had known she wouldn't compromise. That hadn't stopped him from hoping, even if many wouldn't wish him to do so. It would weaken him to strike a compromise and he would have to work hard to recover from it. Turns out he didn't have to. "You preach unity, but not unity for all," he accused. It was true. Unity was only for her people. It didn't stretch to the landowners. "It is the reason you will fail. Collectively we are too strong, even if you manage to defeat me on the battlefield—which you won't. Too many vested interests, and we still have the economic power. I thought you understood that you have to change s system from within. All this bloodshed to prove a point that will ultimately fail. Is it worth it? Can you really say you make good decisions as a leader?"

"The compromises you are willing to give are not going to be enough for us. I know that already, so why bother having this conversation?"

"Maybe for our daughter," he said, losing his temper. "Maybe she should mean more than strangers. Like it or not, we are family, and you are fighting your family."

"Like I said, this isn't about me."

"Cop out," he accused.

"This is achieving nothing," she said and started to move away. He wanted to grab her, but know her guardians would draw if he did.

This only left him one option—she only left him one option. He would have to defeat her in battle. It wasn't the solution of finesse he was searching for, but she left him no option. Perhaps then she would be brought to compromise. Obviously, he would be less giving under those circumstances. He couldn't afford to be.

Swearing, he turned and headed away from the glade. The meeting hadn't gone as he'd expected. Expected wasn't right. This outcome had been a distinct possibility. It hadn't gone as he'd hoped was perhaps a better phrase.

His journey back to the citadel would be safe. Hermione could not bring herself to strike in such an underhanded way, and he trusted his life on it. It was a predictability that made her weak. Not the only thing. Come the next battle, her army would be decimated. People would be more likely to lend their men and resources now that Wildersmith was out of the picture. Everyone needed to ingratiate themselves with the new liege, and Draco knew exactly how he wanted them to do it.

Quietly, he slipped inside the citadel and back into his apartments. So all uncertainty was over now. There was only one way forward. In the next battle, Hermione would either be captured or killed and this rebellion would be over. It would be one for the history books, but it would ultimately fail.

A wild thought crossed his mind of riding on Nott Manor and claiming his daughter, but he couldn't bring himself to use her as leverage. Not until Hermione was in one of the dungeons down in the bowls. Then she would have to choose what role she would play in her daughter's future. When the game was lost, her children would be the only meaningful thing to her.

Laying down in his bed, he watched the moonlight's ghostly glow across the room. Nothing about his family had turned out easy. It was a strange notion, though—family. The more he wanted it, the further away it slipped, but his daughter grew and thrived over at Nott manor, and when this war was settled, things would change. He would bring her here and she would grow to rule. No child would ever be so well endowed to rule based on heritage. Her education would only bolster it.


	91. Chapter 91

Chapter 91

Hermione fought tears that threatened to fall as she walked back to camp. It had surprised her when one of the guards came to her and said a messenger had come from Draco asking her to meet. For a moment, she had considered not going, knowing it would be rough.

He was such a master at seducing and cajoling, doing anything he needed to get his way. And now he wanted her to lay down her arms. The reason it hurt was because he was trying. If he cared nothing about her, he would never try. It went against his best interest to compromise with her. But she also knew that a compromise would only be a word. He had no intention of changing anything. A few bones would perhaps be thrown, but he would also ensure that the people didn't have the chance to rise against him again.

The problem was that she knew him too well. Him wanting her alive didn't change who he was. From the very start, he'd been a political animal who wanted nothing but power. The fact that he didn't want her dead didn't change that.

A tear escaped. She'd been fine until he'd mentioned Charis. Ache for her children bit into her heart. The temptation to just give in was so strong, to throw her hands up and let Draco do as he wished and she could go home and be with her children. Everyone but her would pay the price.

By the time she reached her tent, she was angry—angry at the situation, angry at him. Unfortunately, he could well be right in that she wasn't succeeding in weakening him fast enough for the next battle. In the next battle, they would face a unified enemy who was a much better tactician than her. There was a good chance of defeat, and that could set the ball of fear and doubt rolling, undoing everything they had achieved—completely out of their control.

As she sat down in her chair, there were voices outside and before long, the head of her guard popped inside. "Mr. Potter is here to see you. He said it could not wait."

"Show him in," Hermione said, her voice hoarse with lack of sleep. Wide awake as she was, she might as well see him. "I wasn't expecting you," she said as he appeared wearing the uniform of a page. That was clever. The pages were completely ignored by everyone. Hermione chuckled.

"Things are going well," he said.

"Draco Malfoy is aware of your presence. They are looking for you."

Potter's eyebrows rose as he took his seat opposite the table. "How'd you know?"

"I have my spies." Hermione considered what to say for a moment. Potter would not understand her meeting with Malfoy, so she didn't mention it. There was nothing to gain by him knowing.

"Wine?" Hermione offered.

"Sure."

Grabbing the flask, she poured two glasses. Hopefully it would help her settle into sleep.

"Not sleeping?"

"I woke."

Potter considered her for a moment. "It's going well. There is a lot of interest in defecting."

"But not enough ahead of this upcoming battle."

"Malfoy is offering a gold reward for this next battle. It tempts quite a few, even those who wish to leave. There are also rumours that our army is starving."

"No doubt planted by Malfoy."

"He did send soldiers to destroy the supply lines, so there is first-hand experience to back up the statement."

"Although it's not true," Hermione said. "We've replenished our stores. We won't be hungry ahead of this battle, and we have contingency plans in place in case Malfoy decides to do it again."

Taking a deep sip of her wine, Hermione savoured the flavor, letting it sooth her bruised heart. "If we win this battle, we will put Malfoy on the backfoot and the Lord will continue to stay away. It will be a blow to his cause. With a unified throne, they will start returning, eager to solidify their place, irrespective of an army at the door."

"Perhaps we should discourage some of them on the way," Potter suggested.

"Some will travel with men."

"We can be very convincing."

"You are welcome to try, but we really need to focus on this battle. We need to win this battle."

"You seem uncertain."

"Malfoy knows us better this time. He wants to win at all costs."

"Well, be careful because he might seek to dispatch you with as much honor as he did Wildersmith," Potter said.

That was one thing she knew he wouldn't. He wanted her alive, but she wasn't going to divulge that either. Their relationship was complex and Potter wouldn't understand. Everything was black and white with him.


	92. Chapter 92

Chapter 92

The realms problems wanted to descend on Draco all at once. Everything that had been put off for so very long now had someone who could make a decision. Terry Boot, for how annoying he was, had a great deal of knowledge inside his rather unattractive skull. It wouldn't serve to get rid of him just now. Part of his defense strategy was to hoard information, making it impossible to get rid of him without some concerned work first, and Draco didn't have time to deal with an entrenched civil servant right now.

"Where are the guard?" he asked, annoyance barely keeping out of his voice as clerks milled around his study like flies.

"Guarding the roads. Keeping them safe for travel," Boot said. "It is a necessary job, particularly now as so many are traveling back to the citadel."

There had been reports of a few being accosted on the roads, told to turn back or else. Hermione was deploying some bullying tactics, it seemed. This only increased uncertainty for him as people began to doubt the control he had. It really was urgent to get on with defeating her.

"Leave me," Draco ordered, and he didn't want to repeat himself. Grudgingly, they gathered up their papers and scrolls and left. He needed some competent ministers to take care of some of the administrative work of the realm.

Standing up from his desk, he walked over to the window and looked out. Hermione's camp couldn't be seen for the trees, but she was there. In the fields around, he could see some of her numbers practicing their skills—most probably learning fighting skills for the first time.

It was time to deal with her, to have this final battle where he would crack the back of her army. IT was time to end this and send all of these men back to their fields or workshops.

One of his commanders appeared at the door. And he really needed to get the business of running the realm out of his apartments, having all these people trailing dirt and soil across his pristine floors. Still, it didn't seem right to sit on a throne and exalt his declarations the way Voldemort had. Some seemed to expect him to act in the manner Voldemort had, as if that was what made a liege. It wasn't. Withstanding, he needed some staterooms. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to organize it. The court wanted to woo him too, but his focus needed to be on Hermione.

A discreet throat clearing from the door drew his attention. One of his spies stood there, dressed as if he'd just walked off a field, which he probably had. The man was cunning and intelligent, and completely unassuming to look at.

"I understand our lovely lady down there is intercepting people trying to reach the citadel," Draco said, turning his attention back to the scenery outside.

"It is actually a man called Potter. He is the one involved when it comes to their more discreet activities," the spy said, silently moving closer, but not too close. Spies never liked to be too close.

"Without her knowledge?"

"I doubt that. They converse together often. Disagree most of the time, but he doesn't act against her. Potter needs her. Their effort would likely fall apart without her."

Draco sighed. In a way, it was knowledge he didn't want to have. Taking her out of this would be the absolutely easiest course of action, but she would never forgive him.

"For a while, at least," the spy continued. "Then it could do the opposite, serve as a rallying point. It could be the thing that endears Potter to them and they would follow him in her name."

 _Yes, there was that._

"Potter is her tool, and he seems willing to throw himself into anything. Probably why he didn't get the following he wanted without her. It's her they trust. He could be removed. He is always protected, but it could be done," the spy continued.

She would hate him for that as well.

For a moment, Draco considered what to do. This man could simply disappear. Hermione would see it for what it was, an assassination. It wouldn't do much to convince her he was little better than Voldemort. The truth was that he himself didn't mind those tactics so much, but he would be disappointed, and that rubbed him the wrong way.

Bridgetonne was bringing more reinforcements to bolster Draco's army, which made him even stronger for this upcoming battle, so did he really need to deal with someone like Potter? The man could die on the battlefield in a perfectly 'honorable' way—enemies subdued with sheer strength rather than underhandedness.

"No, leave him, but report on his movements. And hers. That goes without saying."

"She doesn't leave camp."

Draco nodded absently.

"There you are," sang into the room and Pansy appeared. In the blink of an eye, the spy had melted away, leaving only Pansy, wearing silk and fineries. "Everyone is waiting for you in the Red Salon. We see so little of you."

"I have a realm to manage and a war to plan. I am slightly busy."

Pansy shrugged. "Never too busy for us, I hope? It will do you good to take some time away from the tedium." She moved closer to the window. "Is that where they are? Funny that little harlot set up right in front of your window."

"It is the part of the citadel she knows best."

Pansy gave him a surprised, enquiring look.

"Her rooms are practically next door. People do like familiarity, particularly in uncertain times."

"Which is why we would all like to see you? It has been so long since we've come together." She continued in a lower tone, "plus they are all sniping at each other. You really must give them some direction in how to behave. They will follow your lead." Stepping closer, she picked some lint off his shoulder and then smiled.

Pansy was subtly making a move on him—a suggestion perhaps. She would be a valuable choice in a partner—too collected to ever show jealousy, even as she had always known of his developing interest in Hermione. Did Pansy even feel jealous? Yes, she did, ragingly so, but she was too astute a player to show her cards. It was the long game with Pansy, and she was playing a card. Right now, she was telling him that he needed to be wise in his choice of partner. In the hardest part of his soul, he agreed, but there was a part of him that had softened. Hermione had done that to him and he couldn't bring himself to quash it. It was the part that could love a child—love in a more general sense.

Pansy did not take rejection well, and she took public embarrassment even worse. It was the thing she feared the most, an attack on the seat of her power. It would not do to make an enemy of her—not one to underestimate. It made it a delicate matter to deal with her.

"Then perhaps I will come for a little while, but I must write some letters first. I do have a war to plan."

"Well, please hurry up and finish this war. You seem to be enjoying too well."

Was that true, he wondered. Was he dragging his feet because he liked squaring off like this with Hermione? He didn't fully have an answer. Maybe because he felt increasingly assured he would win. He had uncovered her raid in the Wildersmith stores. That had been clever, but he had put an end to it. So neither of them could afford to drag their feet too long. Her men would weaken, and so would his regard amongst the people here if he took too long to quash this rebellion.

Sitting down at the desk, he pulled over a clean sheet of parchment.

 _My dear lady,_ he wrote.

 _It seems we must face each other again to settle our differences. In four days' time, I will wait for you on the field shortly after dawn. We will see who has the strength to remain standing._

Four days would weaken her men, but it gave him a good amount of time to prepare, and he could announce it to the court shortly.

 _Failure to come would, of course, signifies your surrender. I am happy to receive it anytime before then._

Putting the pen down, he smiled, imagining her swearing when she received it, but the smile faded.

 _Allow me the opportunity to be merciful._

She would hate that statement even more. It was a harsh, but true statement. If she surrendered, he had the opportunity to be merciful. If she didn't, harsher punishments were expected. She would have to be imprisoned, probably for a substantial amount of time, and she would never be allowed back at court. The problem was that he wanted her there, by his side, but it was a hope that was quickly running out of time. The alternative would be that she was not at his side, and eventually someone else would have to be.


	93. Chapter 93

Chapter 93

Hermione threw the parchment down on her desk. "Four days," she said to Higgins, who had been here when a messenger delivered it. Draco's seal had told her what this note would contain even before the opened it.

"We need to put Potter on raiding supplies," Higgins suggested. "Now that Wildersmith's stores have been carted away."

"Bastard," Hermione said.

"There is food to be had; we just have to go claim it."

"I wish we could raid Malfoy's personal stores."

"He's probably taken his stores with him to the citadel to feed his men. He wouldn't leave such resources behind at a time like this to make it possible for us to retaliate. Also as his troops are growing. The damage we have done is being repaired with Bridgetonne's arrival. And we now have more mouths to feed."

"This battle will be bigger than the last."

"Yes," Higgins said.

"Can we be ready in four days?"

"We must be. It will be defeat if we do not meet them."

For a moment Hermione wondered if defeat by walking away was better than defeat after battle, when lives and limbs were lost. "Can we win?"

"With our passion, we can hold our own, but we are meeting a better trained and better-armed enemy."

"That hasn't changed from last time."

"No. We did hold our own. Malfoy will expect us to use the same tactics. That we will be defensive, and he the aggressor."

"Perhaps we need to be the aggressor."

"Unfortunately, that plays to his army's strength with skills, rather than ours."

Chewing her lip, Hermione turned everything over in her mind. "If we do not suffer defeat in this battle, we must then face another battle, until one of us weakens."

"The benefits of a longer war would be to him," Higgins said.

"Militarily perhaps, but he cannot afford to appear weak as his rule is so young. He must have victory, and he wants it in this battle."

"Then we must withstand his assault."

Hermione breathed in and out for several minutes, searching her mind for a way to defend against his tactics, a way to give themselves advantage. "And what are his strengths if we lay siege. The citadel isn't as well protected as it appears. Voldemort didn't build it believing anyone would actually lay siege to it."

"We haven't the equipment for a siege. It is old warfare."

"Is anything about war ever old when it comes down to it. We have a way into the citadel. We can simply sneak in and take the battle to them."

Higgins was silent for a moment. Hermione could feel his disapproval. It was not how wars were fought where armies lined up against each other and fought within the confined rules of war. Rules that went out the window when Voldemort had gone and ransacked the whole of the land. Why should they go back to the old ways now? Potter wouldn't disapprove.

"We're taking the war to them."

"It will be highly visible if we all march to the citadel in an orderly row. Malfoy will react and we will then be in a siege position."

"Not if we prepare."

Hermione pulled over a piece of parchment and started drawing. "The vast bulk of the citadel is uninhabited. Potter was operating in there for days without being caught. We can do the same. We have four days to get ourselves into position."

"And then what? Will we not be chasing each other around like rabbits in there, playing guerrilla warfare with each other?"

"Yes, we will. But there are areas that are more important than others. And even with us simply being in there, we will have claimed the citadel and Malfoy would have lost it without a single life being lost."

"But he will fight back."

"Of course he will, but none of his tactics will count."

"His men are better in hand to hand combat. They are trained to do so. Our strength is in numbers, not in close quarter fighting."

This was true. "Most likely we will face defeat if we face Malfoy on the battlefield in four days' time, or sneak in and meet him in the citadel. He will not get the victory he wants."

"Guerrilla warfare never provides a definitive victory for either party."

"It will still undermine his legitimacy."

Higgins was quiet. He couldn't disagree. Then he sighed. "Guerilla warfare has never served us in the past. Voldemort quashed it with brutality."

"We never did it with these numbers, with a whole army. Halstad," she called to the man outside her tent. The man appeared, probably having heard everything about the conversation inside. Luckily, she trusted him to keep quiet. They all knew there were spies amongst them. "Recall Potter as fast as possible."

The man nodded and disappeared.

"You will pursue this," Higgins said.

"Yes," Hermione said. "It changes the war completely."

"Not necessarily in our favor."

"Not in his favor either."

"Then we must plan," Higgins said with a guarded smile. "No place for an old man like me."

The panic that would spread through the citadel would be palpable. Malfoy would be livid, but the damage would be done, even if they could only claim a small piece of the citadel. As long as they could hold it, they were winning. It wasn't all that different from battle—there were just drawing rooms and salons to conquer instead of fields.

-0-

Potter returned the next morning, looking tired. Obviously he'd ridden through the night. There wouldn't be much time for him to sleep just yet.

"What's happened?" he said as he appeared in her tent. Hermione had been up all night planning. Parchments were strewn all over the table, where she stood, surveying her work. His eyes surveyed them. "What is all this?"

"We're taking the citadel," she said. "We're not going to battle in the field like we did last time. We're seizing the citadel, and not by pounding the walls. We are sneaking in, en masse. The citadel will be our battleground."

Potter was much more excited about this than Higgins had been. He rose from his chair and stood over the table. "We have our ways in. Getting in is not a problem."

"Getting in a whole army is. We must move decisively and quickly, and most importantly without them knowing. We can't have our own men know of our plans. There are too many enemy ears around. We must unlock the gates all at once and come from all sides. We have to confuse them and divide their response. They can't have anywhere to assemble, while we find our place to assemble on the inside. Here," she said, pointing at the map, down in the bowls of the eastern part of the citadel. "There are stores here, and they will be ours. Sadly, they are dispersed all over the citadel, so we wouldn't succeed in cutting Malfoy off, but we can claim our own supplies."

"Malfoy is gathering supplies," Potter said. "But there is no reason our men can't ride in on those carts and then divert them to our stores. There are people coming in and out of the citadel all day long. It's like a sieve."

Hermione looked at him. "We have to get our people in unnoticed in the next two days. Then we throw open the gates and everyone rushes in."

"We're preparing for battle," Hermione said. "While Draco is preparing to march out of the citadel to face us. Unfortunately, we won't have the reach to lock him out."

"That would be brilliant. Lock him out after we sneak in." That was perhaps a little too unrealistic, but it was a nice fantasy to indulge in.

"For us as for him, the citadel is too large to secure. Neither can lock the other out. It is only the rules of warfare that have us sitting out here patiently waiting for him to form his lines. You are going to get your siege after all, Mr. Potter." A glow of pride rosied his cheeks.

"We need an advanced team what will open the gates, but it can't take us half a day to march over to those gates. We need to be quick. How do we get men over to those places before the event without telling them why they are there?"

"Exercises ahead of the battle? Anyone who knows what they're doing will see through that," Hermione said. "Unless we want them to see through it. We tell them we are doing a show of force in the guise of exercises in front of the citadel, trying to make ourselves look bigger than we are."

"People will see it as a pathetic ruse."

"We could go so far as to say we're trying to convince the purebloods that more forces are joining us, that we are going to parade in front of the walls. Malfoy and his people would believe it and will snigger at the feebleness of it. We tell no one of the overall plan. Only their bits, then we enact the plan at the same time, redirecting when we are close enough. We have two days to prepare this. On the third, we storm the castle."


	94. Chapter 94

Chapter 94

Reports told him that Hermione wished to make it appear that reinforcements were joining her. She was going to make a show of it the day before the battle. Clearly there were not reinforcements joining her. Surely she wasn't stupid enough to think he didn't know that. She knew full well his spies were everywhere, probably as she had spies within the citadel.

This show wasn't for him, though. It was for the people at court, who he had to admit, weren't necessarily of the intelligence to see through her blatant ruse. That was what she was depending on. It was to weaken him in the eyes of the court. Maybe some attempt to rattle his men. Obviously, any doubt she generated would be rectified on the battlefield. He was planning a decisive win—one where he actually captured his enemy.

For a moment, he wondered if he should prime his men to this ruse, tell them about this vain attempt by the enemy to seem bigger than she really was—a tactic borrowed directly from nature.

If she wanted to wear out her men by marching all over the valley the day before a battle, who was he to suggest she shouldn't. It wasn't a tactic he would enact, but then maybe this was some attempt to prepare for defeat. Didn't make sense if it was. Who would pre-counter their defeat by saying their forces were bigger than before—and were still defeated. Unless she was desperate enough to try to rattle his men. That would be a show of sheer desperation, or utter stupidity—and Hermione was anything but stupid.

A niggle in the back of his mind warned him that he wasn't seeing something, that there was a purpose she was hiding.

"The men are resting," one of his commanders said. So far, Draco still hadn't managed to move his staterooms out of his apartments. "There is a Lord Morice out there seeking an audience."

Draco's eyebrows rose. Morice had been exiled shortly after Astoria's demise. Somehow he had simply walked into the citadel, hoping to curry favor. "I don't have time to see him," Draco said. He really didn't have time to deal with the court and their concerns, including all the ones that Voldemort had chased away and were now looking to re-establish themselves.

Frankly, he wanted nothing to do with Astoria's extended family, wishing they could just stay away. Saying that, bringing the man into the fold would mean Draco owned him. "But tell him I will see him next week." It equated roughly to a welcome back. Next week, Morice could present what he would pledge for admittance back to court.

It was a vastly different game now that he was the one who doled out favor, as opposed to positioning for it. The courtiers and their demands were simply annoying. Had Voldemort felt the same? Although Voldemort had enjoyed pitting them all against each other. It had been his entertainment.

It was lonely at the top, or so the saying went. Did Hermione feel the same. Luckily for her, she didn't have courtiers to deal with, only the likes of this man Potter and other notables of the half-blood society.

-0-

Late in the afternoon, Draco stood at his window and watched as Hermione's troops marched, starting their display. It all unfolded as planned, but it still felt like there was a piece to the puzzle that didn't fit, as if the motive for this wasn't strong enough to truly make him convinced. Hermione didn't give into sheer desperation.

People milled around behind him, but he didn't feel like talking to any of them.

It was a paltry show of force, spread too thin, and displaying in front of sparsely populated parts of the citadel. Clearly, Hermione wanted everyone to see her forces, except him, because there was no one parading right in front of him. That simply confirmed that something was very off about this. It had been the same instinct that had made him order a stop to the preparations for battle, and spread them out throughout the castle.

"They look disheveled, don't they?" A woman said.

How had all these people made it into his apartments? It had to be Pansy trying to counter the assertion Hermione was making.

"Pathetic," someone said with a loud chuckle. "They don't know what they're doing. We really should run out trample their camp to the ground while they leave it unmanned. Won't be feeling so mighty if they all have to sleep in the cold without their tents and blankets."

And then they started running toward the castle. They looked like ants down there. Almost inconsequential.

"What are they doing?" a man said.

Draco smiled. "The enemy is at our gates," he stated.

"Surely they can't get in."

"They're already in. This was the ruse all along," Draco said. He'd known there was something more to this. Hermione was much more clever.

A murmur spread amongst the people behind him and Draco turned. "Lady Nott is changing the rules of warfare."

"That's disgraceful," Lord Merryvor said with deep displeasure.

"What is a bunch of soldiers going to do running down the halls?" A woman said, but was met with silence.

"What indeed," Draco replied, looking around at the frightened and frankly useless people around him.

"They're in the castle," a man said, his voice betraying panic.

"Lady Nott seeks to make the citadel her battleground. So we will battle."

"You knew she would do this?" Pansy said, her eyes large and questioning.

"I suspected this was her intention."

"We have to keep them out," Merryvor said.

"No, unfortunately, the citadel was never built well for keeping an enemy out. There are more entrances than there are people guarding them. The defenses are more for show and the citadel too large to patrol. But this does provide opportunities." The only real problem with this was the panic and irrationality of the courtiers.

"Are we in danger?" Lady Yaxley said. "Are we going to have to fight them?"

"No, of course not. Our men are trained to fight, and hers are not. This is merely a nuisance. Lady Nott knows she cannot succeed in conventional warfare. Well, she cannot succeed in this either, but she is not willing to admit defeat until I force her to." This was now a game of divide and conquer—a game of chess until he had the queen. The dungeons would fill until then as they picked them off one by one.

"Will someone simply just kill that cow?" Pansy said, betraying her inner dislike and jealousy. This rattled her.

"But until we have, it is better that we stay in a clearly defended part of the citadel. Lady Nott wishes to find us spread out and vulnerable, and we will not give her the chance."

In truth, he didn't think Hermione wanted anything to do with the courtiers. No one wanted anything to do with the courtiers, it seemed, he thought with a smile. This was simply changing the battlefield between her army and his, because she knew she was weak. It would be to her detriment because she couldn't use her superior numbers in a confined space. Saying that, there was an endless capacity for flanking, and she was going to use it.

Due to size, the citadel was indefensible. His strategy needed to be to pick off her men bit by bit. It would take time, which was her true intention.

"So we just sit and wait for them to come and attack us in our sleep?" a woman said. Were there more people in here now than a moment ago? It appeared people were streaming in.

"Now, all in more remote parts of the citadel need to more their apartments closer. A defended perimeter will be set up."

"How did this happen?" Churing said.

"It happened now because Lady Nott didn't think of it sooner." Draco looked around at them. "This is no different than before. It is simply the location of the battle that has changed."

"In our very apartments."

"She is depending on your panic," Draco reminded them. "It's the reason she has shifted the fight into the citadel. She wants you to be uncomfortable; she wants you to fear. Her intention has been to weaken us all along."

"To weaken you," Churing accused.

"Do you think you would fare better without me? You're more than welcome to take her on." There was silence amongst the group, and Draco swore, because this was exactly what she wanted, the courtiers were playing right into her hand. "We either spread apart and run back to our estates, defending them separately against an enemy that is organized and committed, or we fight together."

One of his commanders barged into the room. "We are engaging," he said.

"Now, you will all have to excuse me. I need to deal with this incursion. We want it dealt with as quickly as possible, don't we?"


	95. Chapter 95

Chapter 95

They set up a perimeter for defense in a part of the citadel that Hermione didn't know too well. She knew some of the arteries of the massive construct, but the first thing her and Potter did was survey the map one of their spies had stolen. Basically, they were on the other side of the structure from Malfoy.

It was still unclear why Voldemort had built some of these areas. It was as if he couldn't stop building. The few private apartments in this area were quickly cleared, anyone they found told to leave with urgency.

Most of the people with her had never been in the citadel and couldn't believe the sumptuousness and riches inside.

For now, they claimed a specific building to be their headquarters and they had chosen well because it only had a few points of entry that they could guard well, but not so few that Malfoy could block them in. One company was still lost somewhere—either captured or wandering around aimlessly.

Darkness had fallen outside and Hermione threw open a set of glass doors to a balcony, the endless and confused structures of the citadel before her.

"It doesn't look any less imposing from the inside," Potter said, appearing behind her.

"It's not. I think that was the purpose of it. No one feels comfortable here. You are perpetually lost and under attack. Voldemort really was a master of mental manipulation."

"So how do we fight in here, or are we simply going to chase each other around in circles?"

"I think at this point, we set our line and hold it. We don't want to take on more than we can defend at this point. Our advantage from surprise is spent getting us in here."

"It's taken him long to react."

"I don't think they ever considered warfare in here. There has never been warfare in the citadel. Well, not of this kind." It couldn't be said there wasn't bloodshed in the citadel, because quite a few people had left this place carried home on the back of a cart. "Come morning, Malfoy will move on us. He has no choice but to. We should rest until he does."

Hermione returned inside to the map laid out on a large mahogany table. "Due to the structure of this place, and if we block off this entrance here," she said, pointing to a place on the map where an entrance was to the south side of the area, we only have to defend two sides. This courtyard here is probably where most of the fighting will be. We should funnel Malfoy's forces through here and then meet them here."

Potter put his elbows down and leaned closer. "What's over here?"

"There's a large hall. Perhaps as we move forward, we can move our operations there. But as we move forward, we need to watch our back. There is always the possibility that he can come around behind us if we're not careful. We don't want him to squeeze us from both sides."

Exhaustion was starting to sap her energy away. She's chosen a nearby bedroom to be hers for the night. It had been a long day and it was time to rest. She felt sorry for the ones standing guard, but Malfoy really could strike at any time. For this reason, none of the men were allowed to celebrate breaching the citadel. Everyone had to be ready for tomorrow.

There was so much to do, but Hermione knew she would start making mistakes if she didn't rest. Saying goodbye to Potter, she walked down the darkly lit corridor to her bedroom, a dark room with red velvet furnishing and bedding. It wasn't clear who the room belonged to, but someone had stayed here at some point. Could have been quite some time ago. Some families had deserted the citadel due to disfavor, or even murder.

The bed was cold when Hermione climbed in, almost wishing she could be in the comfort of her own apartments. That was probably a place where she would never sleep again. There was no going back at this point. Life could not go back to normal. Too much water had flowed under the bridge.

She couldn't afford to fail. They had to push ahead with this, even if a resolution was hard to see. They would now test each other's mettle in guerrilla war and see who was the strongest. Malfoy's position was weakened simply by them being there and would continue to do so the longer they held. Hermione didn't intend on simply holding; they were going to advance. The purebloods would eventually be brought to the negotiating table. Maybe that was the best outcome. From there they could negotiate a future for her people.

The next few days would be hard. Malfoy would come with everything he had.

-0-

Malfoy didn't even wait until dawn. The attack came early, but they were ready. Most of the troops were sleeping right on the line of defense so it didn't take long to respond. From her operations room, Hermione could see the fighting in the courtyard she had determined as a main meeting place. It seemed the plan worked because more and more of Malfoy's troops were streaming in, being met by a good portion of hers. Her army outnumbered and that courtyard was where she could deploy that advantage.

Today they held, tomorrow they would advance, perhaps by fifty yards in all directions. As they did, their circle of defense needed to grow larger and larger, which was a weakness. Perhaps she needed to plan for a breach in the line. Or maybe… she needed to use those breaches to take some prisoners. Fake a breach and swallow some men. A chuckle escaped her. Breaching her lines was going to become something the enemy feared. Swallowed up to never return.

They needed to go down into the bowls and explore the dungeons, needing a place to put prisoners. Something else she needed was to find out which side the elves were really on. The pureblood ignored the servants that slipped in and out apartments without second thought. Problem was that they stayed away from the areas of conflict. Still, it wasn't hard to sneak into Malfoy's side, provided one found a way over there. Malfoy would have the arterial routes guarded. But that could wait until she had a purpose for them.

"Halstad," she called and the man came inside. "I need the dungeons surveyed for keeping prisoners. Have someone do it as soon as possible and report back. And find Potter. I need to speak to him."

Due to the change in warfare, there was no longer any clear visibility on how things fared. Runners had to report on progress from the different points of engagement. Malfoy had chosen a few, and left others. He wasn't attacking each possible entryway into her area, which was a tactic he would probably try later. Right now, he was testing her strength before deciding on a tactic. She could almost see him sitting in his apartment, plotting to defeat her.

"Hey," Potter said, appearing at the door. He'd been fighting, had that energy that came from the intense rush. "What do you need?"

"I thought we could capture soldiers by allowing them to breach the lines. I'm having the dungeons prepared."

"Alright," he said. "We'll start nabbing people."

"This is a good place," she said, drawing him over to the map. "We let them breach here and then contain them here."

Potter nodded. He wanted to get back into the battle. "I'll sort it." He ran off.

They had developed roles. Her job was to survey the strategy. His job was to execute any changes, while Higgins and the two others that had taken on similar roles were confined to hold specific areas of battle.

Sitting down and staring at the map, she wondered what tactics Malfoy would use on her. What tactics would she use if she were faced with this situation?

Runner returned intermittently and gave updates. As expected, the courtyard was the main clashing point, but the corridor on the fifth level, which led between two distinct buildings was also a heavily fought over area. The confined space served Malfoy's better-trained fighters there, but it was slow progress. They were holding the line as she'd hoped.

Halstad returned. "There are dungeons that will serve," he said.

"Potter is going to start taking men. We need to means of transporting them."

"We found chains."

"Make use of them."

As the man left, Hermione started wondering at the person she had become, someone who could so lightly order people put in chains and imprisoned. It was necessary; she knew that, but it was still inconceivable to see this as her. In a way, she as becoming more like Draco the more she fought him. It wasn't something that pleased her, but it wasn't the time to be squeamish. She had to become what she wished to stop. There would be a price to pay at the end.

A/N For those interested, I have a cool story set in Hong Kong in a boxset of office-based romance stories called, Seduction in a Suit. For the next week, the twenty story boxset is available for the special pre-order price. Link in my profile.


	96. Chapter 96

Chapter 96

The exquisitely laid out supper was marred by the skittishness of the courtiers. The topic on everyone's lips was Lady Nott and her advance into the castle. But she wasn't advancing; she was barely holding on. The damage was however done with her establishment into the castle. For some reason, these idiots had through the citadel was impenetrable. That had never been the case, but they blamed him.

Pansy performed her chosen role as hostess, trying to make the evening enjoyable. Some enjoyed it more than others, especially as they saw these latest developments as weakness. Especially Bridgetonne, who seemed to be a focus point for a particular element—those who felt there really should be someone who steps into Wildersmith's still cooling shoes.

The games of the court continued, particularly now that Hermione had so effectively undermined him. It was something he refused to let show—hence he sat here with these idiots when he really wanted to be away from here. It was definitely not the time to appear flustered, but he did resent having to be here, having to deal with them.

Others spoke of concessions to the half-bloods as if he wouldn't be able to deal with them. It wouldn't do to tell them that their strength was limited. It was all smoke and mirrors here, the truth was always twisted to suit whatever purposes they wanted. Draco knew that game—he'd invented that game, and now it was being played on him.

It was far from a position he couldn't recover from, but he needed to deal with this swiftly. Placing the last morsel of his dinner in his mouth, he chewed then took a sip of wine from a finely cut crystal glass.

"It's such a shame we seem to have developed a vermin problem," Marsha Hassop said with a tinkling little laugh. She enjoyed her own humor. Hermione's status as one of them had thoroughly been revoked. But Hermione was the mother of his child, so this war was basically a family affair. Draco chuckled and Marsha Hassop obviously believed it was her little comment about vermin he was responding to, all while his regard for Hermione was higher than any of the people here.

But it was Hermione that challenged him and it was her he had to deal with. Lucas Bridgetonne was developing ambitions to eventually become a challenger, but Draco would deal with that well before it ever became a problem. Right now, though, he wasn't important.

Leaning back in his chair, Draco surveyed the gathered party. He wanted to leave but he couldn't, and he was angry that his hand was forced for something as trivial and banal as what these people thought. No, he wasn't playing that game. "Excuse me," he said calmly. "I have some small matters to attend to."

"Lord Malfoy, we're not losing your company, are we?" Pansy said.

 _Yes, because I am wondering if I'm better off with you all dead_ , he forced himself not to say, instead smiling. "I should tend to the requirements on my time."

All eyes were on him as he walked out of the hall. Had Voldemort hated them this much? He'd enjoyed toying with them. Perhaps it was something he should enjoy, but he would much rather spend his time devising Hermione's defeat. It was a desire that sat heavily in his gut, drawing all of his attention.

His apartments didn't face the part of the citadel where she was lodged. He didn't know exactly where, but he had a rough idea. The fighting had stopped for the night, the men taking their rest and preparing for the next day. Tomorrow they would take ground.

Stopping in front of her apartments, he saw only darkness underneath her door. An urge to break the door down stole over him. He could, but it would achieve nothing. She wasn't there. Her place here had been forfeit. That was an issue he couldn't quite bring himself to decide: what to do with her when he had her. He knew the courtiers would demand her execution.

Why did she insist on placing him in this awkward situation? She never stopped, never compromised. Everyone must compromise. Then again, what had he compromised? Perhaps they were too alike. She would think the statement completely absurd, but the truth was that as much as she hated and rejected the notion, they were alike. She was so strong, but he was stronger.

Continuing to his apartments, he walked past the guards into his private space. It hadn't been so private lately—he needed to establish some proper staterooms.

Instead of calling for assistance, Draco took off his own boots and let them fall to the floor. He didn't bother adding more candles either—enjoying the moonlight.

Opening the doors, he stepped out on the frozen balcony and let the wind try to buffet him. There were no lights shining through from her campsite now. She and her men were in the castle, but in some way, she seemed further away because he couldn't see her now.

She had made her strike and it was a good one. Now it was time to retaliate, and he would make it a very good one.

Taking a deep breath, he let the chill try to attack him, steal into his skin and bones. He would not be defeated—not by the cold, not by the courtiers, not by his wife. For a moment, he wondered if he should publicly announce her as his wife. A most troublesome wife. She had accepted him into her bed; she had carried his child, but she refused to accept the role that went with that. Anger stole through him, but he rooted it out and quelled it.

It was time to recognize that too much of this was personal and he needed to separate out the two. Too many chances had been given to someone who defies the crown. As much as he wanted to toy with her, he was doing so at the expense of being a liege. It was time to be a liege.

Now it was time to recognize an enemy and subdue them, irrespective of his personal feeling about one of them. He was the head of the crown and needed to act on behalf of the crown.

A last deep breath and he returned inside. The warmth stung him for a moment and he enjoyed it for a moment before sitting down at his desk and grabbing a sheet of parchment.

 _To all_ , he wrote.

 _I must act when the unity of our land is disrupted by forces bent on discord over peaceful coexistence. A truce has been offered and rejected, which belies the true nature of this unreasonable rebellion_. It was time for the consequences to be known. It was time to act and to do so harshly.

 _Therefore I must act decisively. From this point on, anyone who defies the will of the crown will forfeit the protection of the crown. They will forfeit their place in society, any future they or their families have. Their lands will be confiscated and any structure belonging to them burnt to the ground._

If the half-blood men were leaving their families to fight in the citadel, he would strike back in the places they'd left behind. More specifically, he would strike at Hermione's very heart—her estate and her family.

Countless chances had been given to her, but she wouldn't compromise on anything. He had even given her the chance to institute any policies she wanted, but she had been too intent on rejecting him, rejecting the whole pureblood class to actually listen and negotiate. What did she expect them to do, give up their lands and their positions, simply hand them over to a bunch of field hands? That wasn't even close to reasonable. Now she was driving him to act and he needed to do so with brutality. It was the only way to deal with an enemy who insisted on being unreasonable. His tolerance couldn't extend forever—it was already stretched well beyond anything he would have given anyone other than her.

Ringing the bell on his desk, he called his manservant to him. It took a few moments for the man to arrive.

"My lord," he said in his usual, calm voice.

"Take this down to the clerks and have them make as many copies as they can. Have them work through the night. I want every man, woman and child in the citadel to have a copy tomorrow."

Left alone again, Draco dropped the pen down on the desk. It was time to let everyone know what the stakes were. Tomorrow, resolve would waver and discord would start in Hermione's ranks. It was the beginning of the end for her. The men had too much to lose. It was Hermione that had made an all or nothing fight out of this. That being the case, he would end up with all, and she with nothing. Then he might revisit the wants and desires of the man over the liege.


	97. Chapter 97

Chapter 97

Hermione was eating the same porridge as everyone else for breakfast. It was good enough for her if it was good enough for everyone else. It had been a long time since she'd had porridge. It had been the staple of her childhood and it provided the energy for a long, hard day.

Potter appeared and he slapped a piece of parchment down on the table. "He's threatening us," he said, his anger barely contained.

Still chewing, Hermione grabbed the parchment and read it. Each word seemed to get worse and worse, and she stopped chewing.

"He is threatening our families," Potter said, pacing. "He isn't any better than Voldemort was."

"This is for me," she said. "It's my lands he's referring to."

"This isn't just about you. It's about all of us."

"I know that."

"They threw them all over the courtyard, all over the fifth level exit. At least a hundred copies."

They would be circulating around and everyone had probably already seen Malfoy's message, just like he intended. The question would be what this threat would do. Malfoy's intent was to scare the people, and it would succeed—he was threatening their families' wellbeing. It would send a chilling effect through her whole army.

"They threaten and coerce. He is no different from Voldemort. We do what he says or he runs through with his army and devastates us. Nothing is going to change. We won't stand for this." Potter's ire was growing and growing. "They're not going to give us anything. They're going to keep us starving and beatdown so we'll always be pliant while they steal everything for us."

Higgins appeared at the door.

"What?" Hermione said, probably a little sharper than she'd intended to.

"We have desertions," Higgins said. "The men fear that Malfoy's troops are descending on their villages."

"They bend everything to suit them," Potter continued. "Won't even fight a war properly without threatening the people who are least able to defend themselves. We can defend ourselves, so they attack our dependents, old men, women and children."

"This is done to rattle us," Higgins said.

"Are you sure? Are you sure his troops aren't actually riding on our villages? How can we trust a man who threatens to do so? He's basically saying he's going to burn our villages to the ground. Kill our children."

"He didn't say that," Hermione pointed out.

"Are you defending him now? Do you defend this behavior?"

"Of course I'm not." Again Hermione had to keep hold of her anger. There was only one child he was interested. "He does not kill children, only people who stand in his way."

"Like us."

"Yes, like us. We did sign up to fight against him."

It was disappointment that lay in the heart of Hermione's anger. It would perhaps be a stretch to say surprise, because she knew he had this in him, that ruthless streak that made him do what was necessary to get what he wanted.

"What do we say to the men?" Higgins asked. "What do we say to bolster them?"

"While Malfoy's forces are attacking their families?"

"We don't know if he will carry through on that promise," Hermione said. How she wished she could say that with some surety, but she couldn't. Malfoy was capable of doing anything he deemed necessary. He even respected viciousness, even if he wasn't someone who took glee from it like Voldemort did. Malfoy was pragmatic and ruthless, not insane, but that was cold comfort to anyone who got in his way.

This was exactly what they were fighting against. All his words about how he was going to be fair and just. It was fair and just as long as everything was done his way. Bitter disappointment spread like a bad taste in her mouth.

Higgins cleared his throat. "His men are going to come soon. They will aim to take ground today, maybe even break us if they can. The men need some assurance."

Assurance was hard to give, the stakes were now that they would suffer if they lost. That had probably been the case all along. Malfoy had just pointed it out in no uncertain terms.

"We have to continue to fight. We can't let them win. We'll be under their boots forever if we do. We're in the citadel, and we are not budging until they give us the concessions we want." Potter had a tendency to view them as a class rather than as simply Malfoy, because he believed one pureblood liege would be as bad as another. "I will speak, we must rally and we must fight harder than ever before."

Leaning back in her chair, Hermione brought her hand up to her mouth. Potter was right. If they failed at this, Malfoy would take revenge because the courtiers would insist on it. To keep his position, to be seen as the strong leader, he would have to. It was the very notion she had used to damage him. That notion would also make his vengeance spread far and wide.

Potter was also right that this wasn't a fight between him and her. It wasn't a single person she was fighting; it was a fight between the purebloods as a whole verses everyone else. They weren't going to negotiate; they weren't going to make concessions. In a way, Malfoy's hands were tied. The purebloods had the land, the economic and political power. This was as close as they were ever going to get to affecting change, but the purebloods didn't want change. As soon as the threat wasn't knocking on their door, they would want revenge.

"I'll talk to every person if I have to," Potter said. "We cannot waver now."

"No," Hermione said. Potter turned to her with astonishment. "We're not going to fight anymore. We're going to act in kind."

"What do you mean?"

"It's time to strike into their very heart." Hermione rose. Adrenalin coursed through her body. "We will treat them the same way they treat us. Let the men run home. We're burning the citadel."

There was silence in the room for a moment.

"Burn it?" Potter said.

"The whole damned thing."

"Just set fire to it?" Higgins said. "Every resource in the land has gone into building this."

Hermione turned to him. "Is it something worth keeping? Is there anything here worth keeping? It's a mausoleum to Voldemort. It is the seat of their power and we're going to burn it to the ground. The whole damned thing."

"Yes!" Potter said, excitement shining out of his eyes. "A fire big enough, there is nothing that would stop it. It will burn into the very sky."

"Send all the men home, Mr Higgins. Send them out of the castle and we'll start burning."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. We will do to them what they threaten to do to us. There's a certain justice in that, isn't there? Tell the men to evacuate out of the castle. Release all the prisoners. We start burning in an hour. A band will have to remain to spread the fire."

Hermione supposed it didn't matter now if the spies learnt of it. Nothing mattered now. This was ending. What rose from the ashes would remain to be seen, but they could negotiate then. They would not be threatened; they would not be subdued. And Malfoy was going to get that message in flames.

Both Higgins and Potter left with utmost urgency to go prepare. Hermione turned to the window that looked out over the vast bulk of the citadel. A tinge of sadness pierced through her. Her apartments would burn—not that anything bothered her, but it was the remnants of her life with Theo. What would he think of what she was doing? Would he hate her? He was a pureblood and would be expected to fight her. His things would now burn, along with everything else.

Change never happened without a moment of doubt. Fear of the unknown befell even those who suffered from the old ways. Malfoy had fallen back on the old ways and it was time to say no more.

From her vantage point, she could see her men retreating from the courtyard. For a while, Malfoy would have his ground, his gains. It didn't matter now. They were burning down the battlefield. The enemy just didn't know it yet and gloried in their gains, unaware that things had already changed dramatically. They weren't playing anymore.

Turning around, she looked at her desk. There was nothing here to save. There was nothing to save at all. Voldemort had stripped the land of every bit of strength to build this monstrosity, and the people who dwelled in it thought it had power.

If they started at one end, the fire would spread naturally. There was so much fuel to burn, it would take time to reach the other end, enough time for everyone to get out.

Shifting to the other end of the apartments, she looked out and saw men fleeing out of the gates below and into the valley. Did Malfoy see them yet? Did he think it was his message? Well, it was his message, but executed in a different manner than he'd be expecting. He didn't know that yet, and there was nothing he could do. This place was too vast for anyone to stop the burning once alight. Had Voldemort never considered that?


	98. Chapter 98

Chapter 98

Smoke came first, creeping into every space like a malevolent spirit, unseen but unmistakably there. The fighting had turned into a mess. Hermione's lines completely folded and for a moment, it was difficult to find an enemy to engage. Hermione was utterly defeated, her men fleeing the citadel like rats off a sinking ship. But the smoke lingered.

Draco was there when they found the first fire, the men worked hard to quell it, but the smell of smoke only intensified.

"There are more fires," a scout said, returning. "They're lighting them deliberately. Everywhere."

Draco's eyebrows drew together and he finally closed his eyes. They weren't retreating from the battle. This was deliberate. They were fleeing their own flames. "Quell the fires," Draco ordered.

His men caught a few of the perpetrators, but there were too many of them and too much of their despicable work. There was too much fuel for the fire, which spread relentlessly in its voracious appetite. There was nothing to stop it, and the structures were too closely built. There really wasn't anything to stop this fire. It would engulf the whole citadel.

There was nothing to do but to order his men to retreat, before the fire worked around them and trapped them. Corridors served the fire as well as men.

What he really wanted to know was where Hermione was, but it was too dangerous to stay. If she succumbed to her own fire, there would be a justice in that. Urgency wiped away any thoughts of justice. Draco marched away from this part of the building. He had no idea how long it would take for the citadel to completely succumb. It wasn't built to withstand a substantial fire, a major flaw in its construction, but the Voldemort had thought himself invincible.

The citadel was going to burn to the ground. There was going to be nothing left. With it burnt the very foundations of their society. The central point of their power was in flames.

News of the fire had spread, which wasn't surprising as flames now reached into the sky and acrid, black smoke blocked out the sun. Panic had spread, people rushing around.

"Hurry," a man said, urging his manservant who was weighted down with bolts of silk. A woman was carrying her jewelry box as they hurriedly made their way down the stairs, preparing to flee.

It was them that ended up fleeing like rats, carting away everything they could carry. Some would die trying to save their luxuries.

Pansy was standing in his apartments, wearing a broad-skirted silk dress, her hair elaborately dressed.

"What shall we do?" she asked, worry written in her eyes. Draco wasn't sure he'd actually seen her worried before.

"Go home," he said. "There is nothing that can be done for the citadel. I suggest you change into something more practical, save what you must and flee. Don't linger. Once the fire comes, it will be merciless, and you don't want to be caught up here, and it will travel fast."

For a moment, it looked like she wanted to argue, but thought better of it. In the end, she lifted her skirts and left without a word. There was nothing else to do and fruitless to express their outrage. Hermione and her army meant to change the world and they were prepared to burn everything to do it.

The land's riches had been invested in this citadel and now it was simply burning. It was hard to imagine that power could burn, but it really was. The purebloods would be isolated in their lands without a means of acting as a unit. They'd never invested in any other structure, physical or political than the citadel.

Hermione had won. There was no way around that now. Everyone was scurrying away, he could see the stream of carts and carriages on the road leading North. It would be the same on every road leading away from this place. Stepping outside, he looked down and saw the courtyard below crowded with more carts and carriages, nobles bundling what they could into their carriages. Didn't they understand that these luxuries meant little now. Hermione had changed the world.

Behind him, his manservant was doing the same. "Leave it, Jonathan. Just go. Get away from here."

"But my lord, the silver. The library."

Draco snorted. That would probably be the thing Hermione would lament about this action, all those books in here that would burn. It was obviously worth it to her. "Go."

"What of you, my lord?"

"I am coming."

"I'll prepare the carriage."

There was chaos down it the courtyard, carriages all rushing to the portcullis, none letting others pass through in orderly fashion.

"Leave the carriage and take only the horses."

"My lord?"

"Now, Jonathan."

"Yes," he said in defeat and left.

One of the commanders came in his stead. "The fire is coming closer. It's moving fast. What must we do?"

"Disband and leave," Draco said heavily. "Everyone leaves."

"Where shall we go?"

For a moment, he wondered if there was something to salvage here, but this was too large a change to be able to see a way forward. "Go home if you have one. You can go to my estate if you must. There is nothing to salvage here."

The man left and Draco was alone for the first time. Turning around, he looked at his apartments. This was an outcome he hadn't expected. He'd never foreseen that Hermione would go so far as to raze everything to the ground. The whole structure of governance destroyed in a matter of hours.

Leaving his apartments, he walked down the corridor. Scavengers were already routing around the rooms for things to loot. No doubt his own would be before long. Greed would put them in danger. Hermione's doors were still closed. She came back for nothing, it seemed.

A few floors downstairs, the clerks' offices were chaos. Terry Boot was pointing to piles of documents to save, ordering his clerks to lift and carry. Desperation made his voice thin and high.

"Leave it," Draco ordered in a roar and they all stopped to look at him.

"But the accounts," Terry said, his eyes wide and pleading.

"Have no purpose now. There is nothing to account for, or to account to. Let it all burn."

"But…"

The man wasn't getting it. "You're fired, Mr. Boot. You no longer have a place here. All of you, leave the citadel. The fire will be here in minutes, and there is nothing here to save."

"But the records," Terry said.

"Will burn along with everything else," Draco said and continued. It really wasn't any skin off his nose if these men chose to perish in a fire to save their precious records.

The courtyard was chaos. People were screaming and carriage wheels had caught up in each other, creating a blockage. It wasn't going to be solved by screaming, but it seemed the tactic most had resorted to.

Jonathan sat on one of Draco's black horses, holding another three. They pranced restlessly, knowing better that there was danger in this fire than the people so caught up saving their things.

Mounting his horse, they set off, skirting around the offending carriages both insisting they had right away. Jonathan had the two spare horses tethered to his saddle. It was going to be a long ride home. Draco expected the bag on Jonathan's back was probably full of silver rather than food. He sighed.

Smoke was still in the air and the fire roared like a beast above him as Draco looked back up the structure, roaring in its rage. Burning things floated on the air, bit of material, charred debris.

As he rode along, he saw a line of men standing in wait—Hermione's men—and he knew they were waiting for him. They hadn't fled in panic. They had regrouped just as she had intended them to and they were here to arrest him, like hunters waiting for a flushed out fox.

"Continue onto the estate," Draco said to Jonathan. "I expect I will be detained for a while."

Draco could have done more to mount a defense against being arrested, but he wasn't sure it would serve at this point. It would only draw it out. Victory was to the other side.

Then he saw her, standing amongst the men. Gone were the silk dresses and finery. She stood in what was little more than farm clothes, a leather hat on her head. The finery was something she'd shed like a disguise. She'd never cared for it, had never wanted to be part of court. Now she had destroyed the very vestiges of the thing she hated.

Urging his horse forward, he slowly rode toward her.

"Malfoy," she said when he approached.

"Lady Nott."

"I doubt it will be a surprise that we are arresting you."

"I would be surprised if you didn't."

A man stepped forward, messy and dirty with soot. Clearly one of the instigators of the fire. This had to be Potter. "You're nothing but a prisoner now," he said.

"I will never be nothing but anything," Draco said with every bit of arrogance he had in him. The naked fury in the man's eyes contorted his face, but Draco didn't care. Draco's eyes sought Hermione, but he didn't see gloating in her eyes like some of the others here. None of this gave her pleasure, and that was interesting to note.


	99. Chapter 99

Chapter 99

They had decided to retreat to Tondoke, which had been the largest city in the land before Voldemort had destroyed most of it. It seemed fitting that it should be the place to go.

They rode slowly that way, the citadel still burning in the distance. They were far away not to see the smoke, but it black column stretched into the sky. Everyone in the land would see it, see the citadel burning.

"Where are we going?" Draco said next to her.

"Trondoke."

"You are seeking to bring back how things were before Voldemort?"

"No, we are building something new."

Draco wanted to argue that the purebloods couldn't be put to side so easily, but he couldn't rightly do it. She had struck a definitive blow—one he wasn't sure the pureblood could overcome. The pureblood rule had been broken and it would be impossible to put it back in place without the degree of violence that Voldemort had used.

But it wasn't as if they had nothing. "We will have economic power," he said. "It is still our crops that form the economic structure."

"Not really," she said, turning away from him slightly. "Between your lands, Wildersmith's land and mine, collectively the people are the largest and most substantial landowner."

If the news of his lands being confiscated was surprising or distressing to him, he didn't show it. Perhaps he expected it. "You are giving up your own lands?"

"Yes. It would be hypocritical of me not to, don't you think?"

He didn't answer. She was giving up the power the land had. Land still had some power. "Without land, you'll have nothing—your children will have nothing."

"We will have a new society. Plus enough land belonging to the people to ensure that needs are met. The purebloods cannot hold us to ransom with hunger. Then we will see how much their land is worth."

"So you will let them keep their land."

"They will all be small landowners in the scheme of things."

"Bridgetonne will be the largest landowner."

"The purebloods will still not yield the power they used to. Our society will not revolve around their land."

"Then what will it revolve around?"

"Equality."

"Greed will always prevail."

"Then we must guard against it."

"And you will lead this new society?"

"No," Hermione said. From the very start, she had decided that she would step out now. Her role was done. But there had to be a leader, and Potter was the natural one. He fervently believed in equality, and the people trusted him now that he had fought tooth and nail. His rhetoric was believed and respected now that people had seen his vision come true. "Potter will be the leader."

"That lunatic?" Draco said with surprise.

"He is passionate," she admitted.

"Stark raving mad from what I hear."

"Not mad. He's just very set in his beliefs. He will be a good leader."

Draco snorted. "Beliefs don't make a ruler."

"Maybe this war resulted because of rulers who have no beliefs beyond their own benefit and defense."

Hermione had had enough of this conversation and rode away. The last thing she wanted right now was Malfoy picking apart and challenging everything. Whatever problems they had, they would deal with, but she didn't have the capacity right now. She needed stillness and silence. Exhaustion tore at her. Not just from the day, but for the whole war and the years of Voldemort's rule. It was hard to truly believe it was over. They no longer had to live in fear.

For a long time, she simply listened to the hoof steps of her horse, trying to keep her mind from mulling over the multitude of things they needed to sort. Soon enough she could go home and be with her children, although she still had to face the displeasure of the dowager Lady Nott over giving away all of the Nott lands, except for the house. The older woman would probably not see the necessity of it, but Hermione and her children were not going to claim their place in pureblood society anymore, and they no longer needed the protection of the land. It wasn't a conversation she was looking forward to.

As she'd told Malfoy, the purebloods would have their land with which to do as they pleased, but they wouldn't have control, and they'd have no leverage over the people. What place they made for themselves under those terms was up to them.

Potter had agreed to these terms and had promised to ensure they were implemented. He seemed to have endless energy, while Hermione felt her well had run dry.

-0-

A place for Malfoy was found in Tondoke in a basement that had bars on the windows. He was guarded, but Hermione knew that no one would come for him. Any possible retaliation would come from Bridgetonne, who was no friend of Malfoy's. Without his land, Malfoy was a toothless tiger. Dissent from Bridgetonne would not be tolerated either, and he would forfeit his land if he tried.

Hermione had claimed a room in one of the undamaged buildings, a room with bare floorboards and a lumpy bed, but it served to keep the cold out and a place of peace.

Potter was running around and organizing. They had agreed that a council would be put in place with representatives from each region. Potter's role as leader would be elected, a process they would go through to cement his leadership.

Hermione had refused a direct role. She would watch it from a distance. It was time for the people to rule, and not someone with a title.

It was hard not to feel the excitement. People were out in the street, talking and milling, trying to understand this change that had happened.

A knock on the door drew Hermione's attention. "Enter," she said, noting how lofty it sounded. The methods of a lady hadn't quite left her yet.

Potter appeared, looking casual and relaxed. He had bathed and wore freshly laundered clothes. Hermione hadn't even seen him look so tidy before—not by pureblood standards, but he looked respectable. "We are going to use the old grain store as the council building in the near term, then we will build a structure suited for the purpose."

Hermione blinked. She finally had her council. The purebloods had been too self-absorbed to worry about benefit to anyone but themselves. Now the council would be made up by people who spoke for their region. Of course it would be open to abuse, but if they built a strong foundation for it, it would withstand those challenges.

"Good," Hermione said with a smile. "We need to keep an eye on Lucas Bridgetonne. If the purebloods are going to mount a challenge, it's going to come from there."

"We'll keep an eye on them. Perhaps that is a role for the guard. We need to determine what their role is now. A Captain Burgess wishes to speak to you," Potter said. "I wonder if they would have stopped us from burning the citadel if they'd been there."

"I don't know. Those conflicts were probably the reason they stayed away."

"We also need to decide what to do about Malfoy," Potter said.

It was a question Hermione didn't want to deal with.

"We should execute him."

"No," Hermione said.

"He declared himself liege. He should be executed."

"We do not execute people," Hermione said, stepping away and pressing her fingers to her forehead.

"He will always be a threat. You more than anyone know how cunning he is. He will never be someone who believes in the system we are building, and when Lucas Bridgetonne fails, the purebloods will look to him because he is strong. He is strong, even if we've taken everything away from him."

"I know that," Hermione said, but she couldn't bring herself to allowing him to be executed, even if she completely understood where Potter was coming from.

"He has committed treason against the people."

"You cannot blame Voldemort's actions on him," Hermione replied sharply.

"He was going to carry them on."

"You can't charge someone with what they were going to do, and you cannot charge someone for the actions of others."

"People want to see him dead."

"I don't care. We don't hang people for popular sentiment." Hermione crossed her arms, for a moment worrying that she needed to step in and steer the course. Potter's passions could easily run to retribution. It was not the foundation of the society she wanted.

"There are crimes we can charge him for."

"I am not interested in vengeance. It is not something I will have a part in."

"So what are we supposed to do with him? Keep him locked in the cellar for the rest of his life?"

Hermione shrugged. "We have stripped him of his land, his house, even his livestock. He has nothing but his name. If we keep him locked away, then we tell people we think he's dangerous. We tell people that we think our new system is so fragile that one single man without any real means can tear it down. Besides, without power to leverage, his past deeds will return on him, and there have been more than a few. Malfoy has more enemies than friends."

Everything she said was true, but at the base of it all was the fact that she could not execute the father of her child. There were enough wounds on her soul for the things she had been forced to do in the name of this war, and in the name of survival before that.

"So maybe we should let his enemies take care of him," Potter said.


	100. Chapter 100

Chapter 100

There was barely any light in the dusty hovel they had locked Draco in. Columns of pale light shone across the air, making the currents of the air visible.

Draco had slept on a bed of empty sacks. He was in the hands of an enemy that hated him and his discomfort was not raise a concern. Whether that boded well or not remained to be seen. What he was more curious about whether this hate extended to Hermione? Was it something he hadn't seen in her character, something she had hidden from him?

He would be disappointed if that were true—if she wasn't true. Would she have done all this if she was rotten to the core like the rest of them? If that were true, then she was the biggest con of all. Deep down, though, he couldn't believe that she had changed the world by unfathomable levels of deception. This had to be real, only true passion would effect such change. Say what you will about Voldemort, he was never deceptive, and it was his true passion that had reordered the world to his liking. At no point did he hide what he was, or in any meaningful way achieve it.

The grinding of a lock echoed through the basement he was in. Then steps. It was her before he even saw her. Why was she here? Had she come to pass judgement? What would she do with him now that he was utterly in her power? Things would be so different if it were the other way around, but apparently, Hermione would only have her way.

Again she wore the simple clothes of a farmer, but her hair was lose. He'd be lying if he said he didn't find her attractive, even in the simplest breeches and shirt. Her cheeks were rosy and she looked both rested and tired. Would she look so lovely passing judgement on him?

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust in the light and to find him. Draco stood over against the back wall, leaning against a wooden barrel with his arms crossed. Smoke was still infused in his clothes and skin, and he felt far from clean and fresh. Perhaps he never would again.

She was silent for a moment, as if she didn't know what to say.

"Is this to be your new capital?" he asked.

"Not mine, as I said. This is, however, where the council will sit."

Draco smile. She finally got her council. They had all underestimated how unstoppable she would be. "And what is this council going to do with me? What are you going to do with me?" As for believing she didn't call the shots, that might be something she told herself, but it would be a far stretch from reality. People always sought leadership, and she was it. According to her own saying, she was going to hand over to Potter. Hermione had torn the world apart so she could go home to be with her children.

"The council hasn't sat yet."

Draco twisted his head to the side. Did she not have the guts to strike the final blow? Was she going to pass the deed to this council? It would still come from her.

"It will take some time to organize."

"So I shall languish here in the comfort of your hospitality."

"No, we are releasing you."

Both surprise and confusion battled inside him. "You don't simply release your enemy. It makes it a battle, not a war."

"You were never my enemy. This was never about you and me."

"Liar."

She gave him a warning look.

Whatever lies she told herself, he wasn't going to be complicit. "There was a time when there was nothing but you and me, so you can't tell me that it played no part in this."

"It played no part in this."

"Back at my estate. If I had done something different, if I had said something different, none of this would have happened."

Her mouth drew together tightly. It would be a lie if she said no, and they both knew it. "I'm not talking about this," she said, throwing her arms up. Anger stole into him, feeling it was a cop out. She owed him an explanation. "We are releasing you. You can go."

"Just like that? What's to stop me from reforming my army and riding in here to raze the place?"

"Because we've stripped you of your land, your house, and your title. Of everything."

"You've taken my title?"

"Yes. We've taken your title."

"And who is to take your word that means anything?"

"Well, that remains to be seen. But if I were you, I wouldn't depend on Lucas Bridgetonne to come riding to your defense. He's not going to challenge this edict, is he? In fact, do you have any friends now that you literally have nothing but the clothes on your back?"

Draco smiled, recognizing the truth in her words. Her releasing him wasn't a mercy—it was a message to show that they could be reduced to nothing. Not even Pansy would give him much credence now—she couldn't afford to. And the worst of it was that the purebloods would be complicit with Hermione's edicts just to spite him. It was almost comical. They would rather shoot themselves in the foot than to allow him back in—and that meant that they would never be able to co-operate enough to challenge Hermione and the half-bloods.

Perhaps it really was Voldemort's violence that had kept them together, had made them achieve what they had. Without him, they simply didn't have enough loyalty to act as a group. Voldemort had pitted them against each other so long they didn't know how to do anything else.

The door was open, but where was he supposed to go? Pansy's friendship had always been conditional, but there were others, weaker people, who would give him what he needed. It wasn't really an issue of survival. Obviously, he was not going to simply lie down and accept being rendered as nothing. Equally, he wasn't sure if he wanted to carry on the pureblood's fight. If they didn't fight for him, he saw no reason to fight for them. In Voldemort's court as in now, the true ambition was for himself, and his material things were not what made him strong.

Hermione turned to leave. "You should leave. You might be the least favorite person for a lot of the population here. Strange how that is true ubiquitously across both the pureblood and half-blood population. I'd keep my head down, if I were you, or someone will likely drag out some old and longstanding grievance."

Unfortunately she had a point. There were a lot of people who viewed his fall from grace with glee, most of them would love to see him grovel around in the dirt. If they thought that would happen, they didn't know him. His strength had never come from his wealth or privilege. If Hermione didn't understand that, he would be disappointed.

"What about Charis?" he said as Hermione reached the door. Stopping, she stood for a moment before turning.

"What about Charis?"

"My daughter," he said. Hermione stared at him for a moment. Would she deny him in this? "According to you, I have nothing but a daughter."

"And what do you intend with that?"

"You can't deny that she belongs to me as much as she belongs to you, or do my reduced circumstances mean I have no rights to my child? Is that the kind of society you are creating?"

"What do you want, Draco?"

"I have always been open about what I want."

"You wanted an heir, and you wanted to be liege."

Both of those things were true. "It wasn't all I wanted. There were times, like before my battle with Wildersmith that I really wanted you to care if I lived or died. Some small note, some small indication that you ever cared."

An annoyed growl escaped her. "You never loved. People were there for you to use, remember?"

"What exactly is it you wish to punish me for? For using the court to secure my position, to thrive, or is it that I survived and Theo didn't? Because Theo was never a saint. Don't make him into one."

She didn't speak.

"Or do we both fall below your standards? Is it this Potter character with his ranting and sermons that you see as good enough? It's easy to pledge sacrifice when you have nothing to lose. You will only see his true character when he has a position to protect. Well, I have nothing to protect now. Perhaps I will finally be good enough for you."

With sharp steps, she marched back to him. "Perhaps you are only truly interested in me because you have nothing to protect anymore. When I threatened your position, you fought." A hard index finger poked into her chest.

"Maybe neither of us is perfect. I never pretended to be, and I don't disparage people for it."

"You only use their weakness."

Again, it wasn't something he could argue because the accusation was true. Every accusation she laid at him was true, except the one that said she had been nothing more than a means to an end.

Turning sharply, she marched out, leaving the door open. He was free to go, but as she had said, he really didn't have anywhere to go. He had as many enemies amongst the purebloods as he did elsewhere.


	101. Chapter 101

Chapter 101

Returning to the Nott Estate hadn't gone well. The dowager Lady Nott didn't hide the fact that she felt Hermione's actions were both traitorous and incomprehensible. Theo's mother had intermittently raged and glared at her, for what she had done to Theo's legacy, to the Nott land, and the position she had put his child in, to her own children.

"The world is changing," Hermione had pleaded, but the dowager didn't truly believe that. Like so many, she believed that the purebloods were inherently superior and that their position would right itself after this disturbance.

"And to burn the citadel. All those treasures lost. Our family treasures. An untold amount of wealth. What in the world were you thinking? You need to be put in the madhouse," the lady accused, pacing back and forth. "You have left us in utter poverty. To give our land _. Our land_. I won't stand for it."

"You will never be in need for anything," Hermione promised. "The house is yours."

"Well, you certainly can't be trusted with it. How am I to show my face in polite society again? In some way, they will see me as responsible for this."

Hermione closed her eyes. The dowager wasn't going to understand how much the world had changed. Perhaps she never would.

There was no victory to be had with the dowager lady, so Hermione took herself up to the nursery. "Mama." Tabain ran for her as soon as he saw her, and Hermione crouched down to accept the little arms around her neck. No one was ever going to threaten him again. He would grow up in a society free of the whims of a liege. There would be laws that would protect him from abuse and reward for the work he did, not just what he was fortunate enough to be born with.

"I never have to leave again," she said with a beaming smile. Well, maybe she couldn't stay in this house, but she wasn't going to be separated from her children again. Tabain clung to her for a while until he'd had enough and started to squiggle. "Look, look," he said and the nursemaid silently took her leave.

"Just let me say hello to Charis, then I will look," Hermione said, walking over to the cot where Charis was staring up at her with those lovely grey eyes. Another pair of grey eyes stole into her mind, but she dismissed them and picked up her daughter, feeling the contentment suffuse her as she held her. "Hello, my love," she said and drew in the lovely scent of her.

"Mama, mama," Tabain said, yanking on her skirt. He had grown. They had both grown.

"Yes, what is it you must show me?"

He led her over to a structure he had built with his toys. "Wow, look at that. Is that a house?" Tabain nodded. "A school?" Tabain nodded again. "Maybe a hospital?" He liked that idea as well. "There will be plenty for you to build if you put your mind to it." They all had to pull together and build.

Rocking back and forth with Charis in her arms, she wondered how they were doing in Tondoke; she wondered how Draco was doing—where he was.

Their conversation in the basement had been something she hadn't allowed herself to think about. It was a wound she was trying to heal while he constantly tore it open. Another thing to feel guilty about. Didn't he understand that circumstances had overrun anything that had ever been between them?

It felt a bit hypocritical saying it when the proof of them was in her arms right that second. He had still never seen her and perhaps he never would. The last time they spoke, it was clear that he hadn't forgotten about her. It might not matter. For all she knew he was dead—his enemies finally taking revenge. For his sins he was a man with many enemies and few friends.

Another twinge of guilt speared through her. As far as enemies go, she was the one that had taken everything from him. And still he hadn't raged at her like the dowager lady had, like probably most purebloods. He understood what she had done and why, even as he was the one who had lost the most.

Perhaps he had returned to his manor. It wasn't his anymore, but he needed somewhere to go, or maybe he has been accepted into someone else's house. Lady Vaultier had always been a co-conspirator. Another twisted feeling she refused to identify pierced into her.

Enough of him, and enough of guilt, it was time to play, to simply be here since she had fought so very hard to simply be here.

-0-

Relations with the dowager lady didn't much improve, the woman lamenting the destruction of her son's legacy every time Hermione was in the room. Apparently, she was a wicked creature and he would be turning in his grave at what she'd done. The woman even lamented the day Theo had clapped eyes on her.

"A visitor, Madame," the lady's faithful retainer said. Quite a few of the estate staff had deserted them, seeking a better place for themselves in the new world.

Hermione marched over to the window to see who it was, and was surprised to see Alfred Tilley dismounting from his horse. What in the world could he be wanting, she wondered as he was being shown in.

He smiled and bowed as he appeared, greeting her and the dowager with as much deference as if they were all still at court. Hermione supposed the superficial politeness that the purebloods insisted on had not changed.

"Mr. Tilley, it is so lovely to see you," the dowager started. "Sit, please have some tea. How is your mother?"

"She is worried, of course. Everyone is worried."

The dowager shot Hermione a dark, unguarded look of blame. "I hope you didn't lose much in the fire."

"I managed to save most of the family heirlooms."

Another dark look came Hermione's way and she closed her eyes. "I am glad you and your family are unscathed."

He turned a curious look to her as if he didn't quite know what to say. "Yes, thank you. I am surprised to find you here."

"It is where my children are."

"Can you believe she gave all of our lands away?"

"The lands have been transferred to the state, along with the Malfoy and Wildersmith estate."

"Yes, I heard something to that effect," Tilley said. "Together it is a substantial portions of land. Along with Voldemort's lands, the state's land surpasses the rest of us banded together."

"Yes," Hermione confirmed. She was aware of that.

Tilley cleared his throat. "Will there be any more confiscations?" his voice was light, but the tremble in it told her this was why he was there. They were worried, and they had no communication with the council in Tondoke.

"I don't believe so," she said, "but then, I am not in charge. From what I understand, unless things have changed, there are no intentions for any land confiscation."

"That is good to hear. There has, of course, been some concern."

Taking a sip of her tea, Hermione wondered how she had ended up back in the position where she sat politely and danced around careful questions. She put her tea down. "If the purebloods leave us alone, then we are happy to leave things be."

"So we are not going to be rounded up and hanged, then?" he said with a little laugh. "Is that what happened to Malfoy? We haven't heard."

Hermione blinked. "No, I don't know what happened to Malfoy. He was released."

"Released?"

"Well, we did take his land… and his title. Not that that really means anything. I suppose by taking it, we did recognize it."

"So, you are saying that our titles stay?" He was being very careful with his choice of words.

"Like I said, I am not in charge. There is a council in Tondoke that discusses and decides matter of state."

"I had heard something of the like. I am surprised you are not there. I am also surprised you haven't got much of your army here. You probably should." He looked her in the eye. "You probably should. There has been talk of retribution in some quarters."

It was surprising how much talk was going on between the houses. They were managing to communicate.

"They're going to come and burn the house down," the dowager said, panic lacing his voice. "They blame you for all this."

"I don't think so. See I will be returning to Tondoke shortly." It was an impromptu decision, but she wanted Tilley to carry that news back to the purebloods so none of them came here to exact revenge.

"Now you wish to take my grandchild from me," the dowager lamented. Hermione noticed the reference was singular.

"No, of course not. The children will visit often."

Now that the decision was made, it was a weight of Hermione's shoulders. She had felt obliged to be here and to face the dowager lady's displeasure with her, but the safety of everyone suggested she should return to Tondoke, and she was not going to argue. In fact, she would leave in the morning.

"I do hope there will be peace," Hermione finally said, to both of the people there. "Everyone will hopefully learn to enjoy the absence of retribution hanging over them."

"It would be nice to think," Tilley said carefully.

"Perhaps that was the point of all this," Hermione pointed out. "The chance to live and prosper without a single person having the power to inflict their whims on others."

The power that came with pleasing that person was also absent, but over time, perhaps more would come to believe that was a good thing. But Voldemort also kept a large distinction between the purebloods and everyone else, and that had also been removed. They were outnumbered and the power of the people, when unified was something they couldn't face down.

"I do hope there will be no more trouble," Hermione said. "It would be nice to think everyone could give peace a try."

"Not all feel that way, but it would be fair to say those who don't by nature do not find it easy to co-operate, and no one is willing to shoulder the expense of retaining men beyond their own security."

Hermione smiled. Greed could always be depended on.


	102. Chapter 102

Chapter 102

There had been a few attempts on Draco's life. Some wished him dead on sight. Some didn't understand how skilled a fighter he was. Winning the war didn't give them any special strength when it came to one on one combat. Power had a habit of going to people's heads. Some learned that to their detriment. Draco Malfoy was not an easy target.

Things got easier when the guard moved into town. The general population were still untrusting, and frankly terrified, of the guard. The guard had taken on the role of keeping order and they reported to the council which had started sitting in an old storage building.

When able to, Draco leased lodgings right next to the guard's building. It kept the assassination attempts to a minimum. He did lament the loss of his wand, which was very useful in the case of assault. Still, he was far from defenceless without it.

Many were surprised he hadn't left. He had no intention of returning to the dubious welcome of the few friends he had. He was not a man who got by on the hospitality of others. There was no point in lamenting what was lost. The purebloods had lost power and it wasn't coming back. Tondoke was where the new power structure was, so this is where he was, ready to carve his new place in it. No one could stop him.

He started already, by finding a buyer for Lord Harl's grain stocks—primarily because his estate was nearby Tondoke and it had taken little to steal a horse and ride out there. The man had agreed readily for Malfoy to move the grain he had in storage. It was as simple as to approach the millers and sell it. He took a good enough cut that he could set himself up in lodgings.

The purebloods had lost their market. The entire structure that Voldemort had set up had collapsed, and they had nowhere to sell their stocks. The winter harvest was coming, and it would rot on the fields if they didn't have a means of selling it. It was still a real need while neither side wished to speak to the other. It was almost too simple.

Within a week, he had sent letters to every landowner in the land, offering his services. The state land, even his own were cared for by a corporation run by the council, but everyone else would eventually be his customer. Before long, he had every intention of buying his land back, but who knew, setting up a market might be more lucrative than land. Still, he would have his house back if nothing else.

In fact, he enjoyed the challenge and secretly loved that he didn't have to sit through people's endless grievances and ambitions. Being liege hadn't been quite as fulfilling as he'd hoped—plus his wife let the power go to her head. Draco smiled.

Speaking of, Hermione returned to Tondoke about a month after leaving. She took a house close to the main square. It was one of the few Voldemort had left undamaged as he'd conquered this place. This town had been particularly devastated to show that the old capital no longer held any power. Around every corner, though, a building was being repaired or rebuilt. Voldemort's scars were being removed. It was a new world.

Leaning against the side of the building, Draco watched, eventually seeing her in the window, looking comfortable and relaxed. She wore simple clothes and her hair down. She had no intention of leaving the house that day.

It wasn't time to approach her yet. He wanted to be in a better position, but dismay burned inside him when Potter approached the house and was let inside. Rivals would not be tolerated, if he indeed turned out to be a rival. In his gut, he knew that she wasn't interested in Potter. Potter had only ever been useful to her. Now she had no use for him, because she had what she wanted. Hermione got everything she wanted.

Still, it ached to walk away from there, but Draco had work to do. It was time to find premises for his new exchange. After grains and crops, he was going to do forestry as well.

-0-

Surveying his domain, Draco watched buyers and sellers talk and make deals. It had no fineries, built of rough pine and not much else, but it wasn't the elegance of the building that counted. It hadn't taken long for the word to spread that anything needed could be found a Malfoy's exchange. The purebloods had initially derided him for dirtying his hands with the affairs of the 'half-blood' state—until they discovered the degree to which he had the negotiating power. Then they cursed him, but they couldn't sell their crops to each other, could they?

And then the day came that he'd known would come one day. There she was, walking into the exchange. She wore breeches and a shirt. It seemed to be her now preferred attire. Lady Nott did not embrace the lady in her anymore.

Looking up, she saw him and he was pleased he wore new clothes. Did she see the success he had achieved? How could she not?

As he watched, she moved toward the stairs leading up to the mezzanine floor where he had his office.

"You have been busy," she said when she reached him.

"Did you doubt I would be?"

"I don't know. Perhaps not. You have a tendency to put yourself in the thick of things."

"That is where the action is."

"Quite an empire you're building."

"Some are just meant for it."

"I am not, apparently. I have not been quite so busy."

"No, you've barely left the house."

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "I have lost time to make up for."

"As you can see, I will have need for my heir. I can't believe you ever doubted that."

Shifting her head, she looked at him. "Ever the opportunist."

"Some things never change. What about you? Have you truly given up your revolutionist banner and contented yourself with domesticity?"

"No, I am gathering and recording the laws that the council ratifies."

"Your precious council."

"Don't be bitter."

"I don't do bitter."

"Yes, you do," she said.

"As you can see, I am thriving. I have nothing to be bitter about."

"Hardly the lofty heights of being liege."

"Yes, well, being liege wasn't all it was cracked up to be. You don't truly understand how annoying people are until all their attention is focused on you. Enough to turn you murderous."

"Then perhaps I did you a favour by burning your kingdom to the ground. For all that, I am glad you have landed on your feet. I should never have doubted you. Congratulations." She went to move away.

"Good luck with your laws. Funny role you've taken on as you have a tendency to break every rule there is."

"Only stupid rules. Unfortunately Terry Boot has turned up too, like a bad penny."

"I would have thought he'd be guarding the ashes of the citadel."

"He's trying to. Making a damned nuisance of himself, wanting to reinstate the bulk of Voldemort's laws. I think the purebloods have sent him in on their behalf."

"They are going to want to have some voice."

She watched him for a moment, then sighed. "In time, we might have to give them a place on the council, even after they rejected the idea to begin with."

"They won't be left out in the cold forever. And sadly, I'm not much of a friend," he said with a smile. "Never been much for community service. I have an empire to build, after all."

"Well, good luck."

She started to turn away.

"We can be more than this," he said.

"Do you never give up?"

"No, I've not been known to once I know what I want."

"I ruined everything for you."

"I don't hold grudges."

"Yes, you do."

"To me, it has always been about me and you," he stated.

"There was one point when I needed you to make it about me and you, and you didn't."

"I did what I thought I had to."

"So did I," she said.

"You were the one who made it about something other than me and you."

Silence filled the space between them. "Our children need a better future."

"Our children?"

"I'm speaking generally."

"I'm not."

She sighed, as if she didn't want to deal with this. That wasn't an option. He was not going to be swept aside.

"You have no right to keep my daughter from me. You can't claim you are protecting her. There is nothing that stops it from being spiteful."

"I'm not spiteful."

"Then I will come see her."

"If you must," she relented. Draco knew full well he was manipulating her and he felt no qualms about it. The thing with Hermione was her stiff sense of right and wrong, a logic that could be used in any negotiation with her.

"Then I will come tomorrow."

She wasn't happy, but her code would not allow her to be spiteful. Her code forced her to acknowledge he had some rights, even if there wasn't a law in the land that said so. Hell, she wrote the laws.


	103. Chapter 103

A/N Sorry, for loading the wrong chapter. My computer is crowded and I'm a bit spaced.

Chapter 103

Clenching her fingers together, Hermione released them again. The peace she had found here in her house, away from the disapproving stares and endless sighs from the dowager Lady Nott, was now interrupted by the one that tends to disrupt her the most. Some things never changed, it seemed.

It would have been childish to deny him completely. Technically he had no right to Charis, but he had twisted her sentiment and her beliefs. She'd known exactly what he was doing, but she refused to be spiteful. The world they were building would be one of kindness, of inclusion. How could she then turn around and say he had no rights because there wasn't a liege in place to force her to acknowledge him as Charis' father?

In a way, it amused her that nothing had changed for Draco other than the circumstances. He was exactly the same and had changed when the game changed. There wasn't any rhetoric with him, any firm beliefs. He simply took what was presented and determined how he could make it work for him. He'd never been invested in Voldemort's regime other than that being the place where it was happening. Now it wasn't, and he was taking full opportunity of the change.

Obviously everyone hated him, but that had never changed. People had always been wary of him and they had a right to be.

A knock sounded on the door and Hermione wiped her hands down her skirt. Perhaps she wouldn't be so nervous, so uncomfortable if he was angry and bitter. At least he wasn't dead. It would sit on her conscience for the rest of her life if her actions had resulted in his death, and then she would have to explain to Charis one day what had happened to her father.

Taking a breath, she prepared to open the door, not sure she wanted to let him in. Draco had a way of getting what he wanted, and he wanted to be here. For exactly what intention, she hadn't yet worked out. Maybe there was some level of vengeance that he hid inside him.

"Hi," she said when she opened the door and let him in. The kitchen was warm, but simple. There were no fineries in the house. Fineries seemed too linked with what they had fought against. Besides, Hermione had never seen any value in them. This house had walls and soft beds. It protected them and gave them the space they needed. What was so wrong with that?

Draco looked around, observing everything—gathering munitions the way he always did. "So you've given up on the Nott Manor."

"I had reason to believe I was exposed and unprotected there."

Draco watched her for a moment. "Against whom?"

"Against those who seek retribution."

"No one could think that was advisable. You are a founder of a new nation. There wouldn't be anywhere to hide for someone who attacked you."

In a way she was pleased he believed so. "Some don't have a great deal of foresight."

"That is true," Draco conceded.

"Besides, the dowager Lady Nott is not exactly thrilled with recent developments. Especially that I gave the land away."

"Doesn't have your penchant for personal sacrifice?"

"A sacrifice that buys the future for the people of this land."

"Not to mention sacrificing my lands," he said.

"Well that was just war restitution. It secures peace in this land. Even you have to admit it is a worthy goal."

"I am by far not as civilly minded as you."

"Even you have to admit that it is far better than having a lunatic like Voldemort running the show."

"For the record, I would have made a wonderful liege."

"It's actually not in your nature to rule. You need someone to compete against, and a way of cutting your losses when people aren't achieving for you. Can't do any of that when you're a liege. Not only do you have to be civilly minded, you are civility personified. It goes against everything in your nature."

"Is that so?" he said.

"Admit that you love taking advantage of the opportunities now," she said, "while all the other purebloods are sitting on their laurels, clinging to their land that gives them none of the power it used to. The game has changed and you have moved with it, while all the others haven't. Admit you love it."

A small grin on his face showed that he did, although he wasn't prepared to admit it.

"That is what our sacrifice has affected. Or would you rather be sitting at your estate wondering when someone was going to come and acknowledge you?"

"I never wait for anyone."

"Exactly."

"Although I waited for you," he said and took a step closer. Not close, but the movement was noted. Hermione's throat closed over. "And then you came and destroyed everything."

"You know my reasons."

"Because you didn't believe in me."

Hermione went to open her mouth, but then closed it again. "I had another vision."

"That included sacrificing us."

It was hard to argue that one. "Yes."

Twisting his head slightly, he watched her. He seemed pleased with her answer. And it was a relief to finally acknowledge it. She had sacrificed him for the greater good of her people, even to the point where it could have killed him—was even surprising that it hadn't. "I won't apologize."

"I'm not sure I'd think better of you if you did."

Did he think badly of her for what she'd done? It would hardly be surprising. Who wanted to be sacrificed for their lover's ambition? It was the thing she had always feared he would do to her, and in the end, it had been exactly what she'd done to him. Maybe they were more alike than she had ever admitted. Might also be the reason why he wasn't strangling her right then.

"So now what?" he said.

"I am done."

"Don't you need someone to compete against?"

"No, I never did. It is how we are different. I just want peace."

"To raise the next generation."

"Yes."

"Well, let's see this daughter of mine. With our combined ambitions, perhaps the world should fear her walking in the world."

"Well, it will be some time before she walks. She is getting quite good a rolling over."

Hermione led the way up the narrow stairs of the house, so very conscious that he was behind her. Not only did he make her nervous. Introducing her daughter to him made her more so. Not that she thought he'd ever harm her. It was more that ambition in him stoking up.

The wooden floorboards creaked as they walked toward the nursery and opened a door. Tabain was sitting on the rug, playing with a toy. He looked up as they walked in, his eyes shifting to Draco.

"Hello, Nott offspring. We have met once before."

Tabain slowly shifted behind her skirt where he peeked at the stranger that had come to the house. Too young to understand that this was Charis' father. Perhaps there had also been some threatening words exchanged the last time they had spoken. The grown-up world was complicated, but how did one explain that to a four-year-old?

A coo came from the crib, where Charis had been napping. The noise drew Draco's attention and he stepped over and looked down on her. A frown drew together his brow for a moment. "She looks like me."

"That tends to happen," Hermione said, stopping herself from rushing forward and Draco reached down to pick her up. She seemed so small in his hands. As opposed to Tabain, Charis wasn't frightened of him, but she wasn't a terribly anxious child. Curiosity seemed to be her mainstay. She cooed again.

"They're impossibly cute, aren't they?" Draco said. "Nature does that so we take care of them. Not all babies are this handsome."

"We take care of them irrespectively. All parents love their children."

"Not all of them," he said darkly. "But you are a handsome little girl. Look how big her eyes are."

"She's a baby."

"Those are my eyes. I think we should have more."

"Hang on," Hermione said, absorbing the statement. "We're not—"

"Five, six. Can you imagine the empire we can build with half a dozen?"

"We're not building an empire."

"We've already started, haven't we?" He looked at her. "Are you going to deny me my very family? Is there nothing you will let me have?"

"It's not like that."

"You're being spiteful and cruel."

"I'm not. Stop trying to manipulate me."

"How else am I going to get what I want?" he said, stepping closer to her with Charis still in his hands. "You tore down what I created for us, so fine, we'll do it your way."

"Maybe you need to take that as a hint."

"I'll take this as a hint," he said looking down at Charis. "She's perfect. We should definitely make more. I want my family. What exactly is your objection to me?"

"It's not—"

"Because we both know that we are exactly alike, and you rejecting me for objections to things in me that you do yourself—and so much better than me, may I add—well, that is just… unjustifiable."

"That is completely untrue. Fine, on the surface, some of our actions seem alike, but I am nothing like you."

"Ambitious beyond anything I ever dreamed."

"It was necessary."

"Ruthless."

"Also necessary," Hermione admitted through gritted teeth.

"Capable."

It was hard to argue that one.

"Compelling."

"That's going a bit far. Are you saying you're compelling?"

"Of course I am. Remember making her?"

"Ugh."

"I remember. We need to make more, don't we?" he said, turning his attention back to Charis. "And she smells so lovely. Look at those tiny fingers. Big eyes and a tiny nose. Her mouth is just perfection. This child is perfection."

Hermione sighed. It was impossible to argue that.

"Look what we made," Draco continued. "Don't tell me you don't want another."

"It was rather stressful."

"It won't be this time. Although this house is much too small."

"There is nothing wrong with this house."

"If I stretch my arms out, I can just about touch both walls."

"I'm not moving."

"Then we will just have to extend it, won't we?" he said, cooing to Charis. "Nice, big house. Just you and me, and Mama—and the Nott issue, who I am sure we can train around to our way of thinking. His father wasn't a bad bloke, all considered. In fact, he had rather good taste and the ambition to go against everything and everyone to get what he wanted. Not so unlike us, is he?"

A low growl escaped Hermione's throat. He was impossible. He was fully utilizing her guilt and aspirations. Because what he was offering had at one point all she had ever wanted from him. He just hadn't offered it when she'd wanted it, and was still punishing him for it.

His eyes sought hers. He wanted her to acquiesce, and he wasn't going to stop trying if she said no. She was what he wanted. This was what he wanted, and as far as she knew, he had never wavered on that. What reason had she to say no? That desire for him still sat cloying and heavy into her very bones. And although he was manipulating her with words and deeds, he hid nothing of what he wanted. But something in her fought against surrendering to it, even if she couldn't understand why. Perhaps because she had always had to guard herself against him. Because she lost herself in him, in the desire between them. If she let him, he absorbed everything around him, the very light, the air, her every thought. What would she have left to resist him with if she gave in? It tore her to pieces when she had to. That was what made her so very wary.


	104. Chapter 104

Chapter 104

Draco was in the kitchen when she returned downstairs after settling Charis. He stood by the stove and waited for the kettle to boil, a task Hermione would have expected was well beyond him.

Hermione stopped at the bottom of the stairs and watched him. She had no idea what to say to him.

"Tea?" he asked.

"Making yourself at home?"

He turned to her. "One would think that you didn't love me."

There he went again, trying to manipulate her, pushing her to the limit where she either had to be honest—against her will—or lie. "I would say my feelings are more disparate."

"Disparate is a big word. What exactly is your objection? Might as well spit it out."

"You manipulate me."

"I don't manipulate; I am convincing," he said with a smile and poured tea into two mugs through a strainer. Walking over he handed one of the mugs to her. It was warm in her hands. He didn't move away.

"Alright," he said. "What else? Are you concerned about my tarnished reputation?"

"No, of course not. What do you take me for? I am concerned that you ride roughshod over what I want."

"Since when?"

"You kidnapped me."

"And as I recall, you didn't mind one bit. I clearly made up for it, and I was trying to protect you. You have a habit of disregarding your personal security, which can be quite distressing for the man who is with you."

"You weren't with me."

"Are you going to deny what we had?"

Damn, he had caught her again. "That was something fleeting."

"Only because I did or said the wrong thing, and you were not very understanding."

This was on her now? "How am I not very understanding?"

"Considering where I am coming from, how do you expect me to do everything perfectly? I'm not exactly experienced with this."

"With what?"

"Love."

"Pfft," Hermione said, feeling this all cut a little too close to the bone.

"Yes love, and you denying it doesn't make it go away."

Putting his mug down, he reached behind her neck and pulled her to him, into a kiss. She hadn't expected it and couldn't guard against it. His familiar taste suffused her, the feel of his lips to hers. It was much too comfortable and enticing. It felt too… right.

Shifting closer, his body pressed to hers, except where she kept a hot mug between them. "There is always that bit of pain with you," he said. "I've grown to accept that."

She shifted the mug, out of politeness if nothing else. Sadism wasn't her thing. Obviously she had some tendencies toward masochism, considering that she seemed to end up letting this man close time and again.

Mug gone, he took that as an invitation or opportunity to pull her fully to him, his lips seeking hers. The pleasure of it lulled every one of her thoughts and her senses took over. Desire pooled in her gut. Why did this have to be so lovely? He'd always had the ability to manipulate her with desire, and apparently, nothing had changed there.

With heavy breaths, he released her lips, seeking that spot along her neck that made her weak. All this so she would let him stay. All he wanted was to stay. That wasn't true. He wouldn't be happy until he had all of her heart, but could she trust him with it?

Firm, searching hands sought underneath her shirt, sought her skin and the softness of her breasts. She should be stopping this. She needed time to think this decision through in a logical and reasonable way, but the feel of him along her brought out other needs—compelling needs.

Demanding lips returned to her, robbing her of thought again. With his arms around her, he lifted her up to him, turned her around toward the table. If someone walked in, they would get quite a sight.

Without meaning to, her hands sought him, sought the warm skin around his waist, snuck under his shirt as he shifted closer, finding where he wanted to be between her thighs. His firm manhood pressed to her.

How did she keep on finding herself here? Because she wanted him, always had. Because he made her feel things no one else could. And relinquishing to him felt so wonderful.

His hands drew her skirt up, stroking along her thighs. She loved hearing him breathe so hard, she loved how his hands shook. She loved how much he wanted her.

With a few tugs and her cooperation, he lifted her shirt over her head, his hands stroking down her shoulder and over the soft mound of her breast, down to her hips, where he shifted her forward towards him. It was no secret what his intention was. The heat in her had built to a pervasive ache, one she couldn't pull back from.

"You have always been my weakness," she panted.

"Let me be your strength."

"I am strong," she defended, both tensing and relaxing as his fingers slowly ran from her throat down between her breasts and lower, and his eyes followed.

"Then be strong enough to let me in." His fingers sought into her wetness and the nub that made her pleasure surge. "I love you, and though you won't entirely admit it, you love me too."

The pleasure was too intense to talk, and Hermione was relieved because she wasn't entirely ready to leave all the cards on the table just yet. He still had some things to prove to her.

Intimacy was obviously not a problem. With mere touches, he left her a puddle of desire. Unbelting, he freed himself and pushed into her. Hermione's breath was stolen away. Lightening heat filled her and she gasped. She didn't even want him to move, just be there with her.

Deep, powerful pulses of pleasure rushed through her and then he moved, sharp thrusts stealing her very consciousness. A sea of sensation submerged her, holding her in exquisite stillness.

Arms held her and his deep groans reverberated through her mind. Finally leaving a sated languishness she couldn't deny if she wanted to. He lay on her, his weight pressing her down, his breath sharp and labored at the side of her head.

They stayed like that until their breaths calmed, then he pulled away from her. "Can you blame me for not letting you go?"

It was hard to argue something that at that very moment felt as natural as breathing.

He kissed her, tenderly and gently. It was so lovely when they were like this, calm and intimate. Thinking back, she remembered how awkward it had felt to him in the beginning, how unsure and hesitant he had been, but not now. He knew what he wanted—this was what he wanted.

If it wasn't for him holding her, she would get cold soon, but neither of them was rushing to end this intimacy. She almost wished they were in bed so she could just lie in his arms.

"Some things we do right," he said.

"It's just everything else we get wrong."

"Not everything. It would help immensely if you not try to destroy me and burn everything I have to the ground. I wasn't going to be another Voldemort. You could have had some faith in me."

Put that way, it was hard to express that it hadn't fundamentally been personal. Well, to some degree it had been. "It was perpetuating a fundamentally unjust system."

"So now we start with nothing."

"Is that so bad?" she asked. "What is it exactly that you miss?"

"Nothing, but for the record, is there anything about my current activities you object to? I'd like to know before you burn my establishment to the ground."

Putting her arms around his neck, she smiled. "Nope."

"Are you sure? Because, you know, I have my propensities to leverage the things around me to my own benefit."

"Do your worst—within limits."

"And what are those limits?"

"Use the system for all you can get, just please don't undermine it."

"Fine. Deal. I won't overthrow your council."

"Thank you."

"I won't take any responsibility if it falls apart on its own, but I won't undermine it, or in any way hurry that process along."

"My council will work."

"It is not in people's nature to cooperate."

"You spent too long at court. You don't have any faith in people's better nature."

"People don't have better natures."

"We can insist on it. We can insist on creating the world we wish Charis to grow up in. And Tabain."

"Yes, the Nott brat. I suppose he will make a decent big brother to Charis, and to this one," Draco said, letting his hand settle on her stomach. "A boy, perhaps. Or a girl. Girls can be so vicious."

He stepped away and Hermione felt the cool air in his absence. Quickly, she pulled on her shirt and righted her skirt.

Mug in hand, he took a sip and then put it down again with a grimace. Seems it had gone cold. Moving back to her, he stroked his hand down the side of her head. "They will grow up well. Heaven help anyone who gets in their way. No one would dare," he said with a chuckle. "And it's not even me they have to worry about."


	105. Chapter 105

Chapter 105

Draco woke early in the morning and threw open the windows, letting the cold air flood into the room. Hermione was still sleeping, wrapped warmly in ample blankets.

The street below was quiet, the town barely awake. There was much to do that day. Draco still had to build his empire, and he relished it. He enjoyed having the purebloods over the coals—financially speaking. He showed no mercy to anyone else either.

There was something to be said for having full freedom from a liege. There literally was nothing to stop him, nothing he needed to guard against. The council was too busy working out its inner workings and setting up production on the now state lands to worry about him, and technically he was playing within the rules—using them for all he could. The council covered basic food distribution to everyone, but anything else was fair game. Voldemort had rooted out and destroyed any level of skill, and the purebloods were still too caught up in the old ways, unwilling to recognize that they had little meaning in this world.

The only thing he had to guard against was Potter dragging Hermione into things she shouldn't be in. The council needed to stand on its own two feet and she was too much of a soft touch when he came knocking with some problem he wanted her to fix for him. People like Potter would take as much time as one was willing to give them. Unfortunately, Hermione wouldn't allow him to chase the cur away.

Turning back, Draco watched the sleeping form of his woman in the bed and after a moment walked over and stroked a curl from her face. "I'm going to work," he said and she mumbled. Charis had kept her up with a slight fever during the night. Kissing her, he pulled the blanket up tightly around her and walked out of the room to the children's room.

Tabain was still fast asleep. He was a cute kid, but Charis was awake, looking at him when he appeared over the crib. Rosy cheeks showed the aftermath of the fever, but she looked alert and even smiled at him and kicked her feet under the blanket. "You wore your mother out—and yet so criminally adorable," he said, picking up the tyke and settling her on his arm. "You're right as rain, though, aren't you? Hungry?"

The girl fussed a bit and looked over at the door.

"Ordering me around already, huh?" Draco said and walked her downstairs, where a pot of applesauce drew her attention. "You are hungry."

The kitchen was still warm from the stove and he shoved in some wood to build the fire again. Sitting down, he placed Charis on the table, where she sat as he fed her with the tiny spoon. Intermittently he had some bread and cheese himself.

Their life here was so simple, but he had never felt so satisfied. Charis couldn't care less if the spoon she ate from was clay instead of silver. Once shut in here, in this simple house, the rest of the world didn't exist, except for fucking Potter who turned up like a bad smell. For some reason, Hermione seemed to value the friendship, and Draco struggled to deny her anything she wanted, even if he found the man trying.

"Today Papa is going to make one of his enemies cry," Draco said with a grin as he spooned another portion of applesauce into Charis' mouth. Lucas Bridgetonne was trying to sell his forestry harvest. Bridgetonne wanted to buy land and needed the money. Well, he was going to pay dearly for it. "Poor man will lose his shirt in the process." But it was interesting to see that the purebloods were starting to turn on each other. It was bound to happen. They had never done anything but.

Potter, even being as soul-destroyingly annoying as he was, did have a penchant for making people cooperate, and it did move mountains. With some stop-gap measures, for which Draco at times supplemented at a decent benefit to himself, hunger was abating across the land. Once the state land harvest was fully productive, there would be enough food for everyone.

With hunger gone, creativity improved, focus turned to building and Tondoke was expanding. Draco had bought his first property close to the center of the city. Eventually he would build their new house there, but there was a comfort here in this small, non-descript lodging he was reticent at letting go of.

Hermione hadn't agreed to marry yet and he was not going to suggest any substantial changes until she did. Perhaps when she started showing and people starting asking questions, she would look more favorably on it. The absence of a ring on her finger was an itch Draco had to stop himself from scratching—which perhaps was the point of her not relinquishing yet. She was testing his resolve and his patience.

"Had enough?" he asked Charis. "Perhaps we should go for a little walk, survey your domain." Wrapping her in a blanket, he took her out of the house and walked around the main square, watching as the baker was putting out his steaming wares. He nodded guardedly at Draco as he passed. The people here were still wary of him, but everyone in this village knew the former great enemies of this land were now shacked up in a small house just off the center of the village. They didn't pretend to understand, but they didn't question either.

"What do you think?" he said, stopping at the lot he had purchased where the remains of a burned house still stood. "This is where our house will be. But we need some way of breaking it to your mother. Maybe we will build it now and give it to her as a wedding present. What do you think? We can't, after all, have three children in one room when your brother comes, can we? You would bully your poor brothers mercilessly. As you grow, you will want your own room, and so will your older brother. And a backyard to play in, with apple trees to climb. Maybe a stable for horses."

The more he thought about it, the more eager he was to build it. It would be the place they would live, at least until he could purchase back the Malfoy estate, but he wasn't sure Hermione would ever want to live there. It was a mausoleum to the past, but Draco had some obligations to the family name he couldn't make himself walk away from even if he wanted to.

"We better return before your mother wakes and starts missing you."

Taking his time, he walked back to the house and upstairs to where Hermione was still lying in bed. "Look who wanted to come see you."

Hermione opened the blanket and let the little bundle in. "Slept in, did you?" she said to Charis who entwined her fingers in Hermione's hair.

"She's been up for a while. I have to go. I'm gonna rip Lucas Bridgetonne's guts out today—figuratively speaking."

"Have fun," Hermione said and pulled Charis to her and placed a kiss on her head. She smiled at him that way that hit him in the gut, making him waver for a moment. No, it was not the time to get back into bed. That reward would be his tonight, after a good day of slaughter—figuratively speaking.

The End

A/N Finally the end of this massive story. Sad to see it end, but time to move on. If you want to hear about releases, and giveaways related to my original fiction, sign up to my newsletter in my profile, because I have a free book giveaway coming up.


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